


Dove and an Eagle

by sadboykylo



Series: Pursuit of Happiness [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics, Bodyguard, Earn Your Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heavy Angst, Injury Recovery, Mutual Pining, The Dark Side of the Force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadboykylo/pseuds/sadboykylo
Summary: Their love won't be taken down by a bullet.





	1. Sovereignty

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Presidents Day!

**Chapter One**

Sovereignty 

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

 

Three Years Later

 

“The twenty-fifth amendment of the United States Constitution describes presidential vacancy, disability, or inability. The legislation is an effort to resolve lasting issues revolving about the office of the president. What happens upon the death, removal, or resignation of the president? What is the course of action? Who can fulfill the president’s responsibilities?” 

 

A wall of windows — partnered with the storm brewing outside — created a curtain of smoke. 

 

Together, they painted a sheath of silver that blanketed the auditorium in darkness. It rained quite a lot in London. The city was wrapped in fog; drizzled by dew — chilly, dull, and romantically involved with the greyscale. 

 

Mindlessly, her eyes followed raindrops as they raced one another down the surface of the glass. They converged and they ruptured. One could argue it was sinful for an individual named after the sun to hide away in such a gloomy place — others would call it poetic. It depended on who you asked. 

 

The professor scanned the room and rows of seats before her eyes eventually landed on the only hand continuously raised. Other students hid behind laptop screens or kept their eyes low to purposely avoid contact. “Yes, Rey?” 

 

She lowered her hand yet her eyes remained married to the window in a daze. “The vice president,” Rey responded. “A politician voted by the public that runs on the same electoral ticket as the preceding president.”

 

Delicacy warped the room, basket weaving itself between bodies of matter. Her voice managed to exude confidence and stability — a performance she had mastered in the past semesters of college. Slowly but surely, Rey had grown familiar with the side-eyes from students, the gawking glances when she wandered into the library at two in the morning, or studied quietly in the laundry room while wearing shabby pajamas. The awkward ambience she dragged with her presence had become a part of her — something she couldn’t shrug off, and therefore, was better off welcoming.  

 

“That — that’s correct,” the professor choked. She cleared her throat from the dryness as she sputtered away from the absence of words. “When — uh, when the president is incapable of running the country, the vice president is sworn into office.”

 

Motionlessly, Rey responded with a brief nod. She slid her tongue along the back of her teeth as her eyes glossed over; fixated on the rain. The specks of water were starting to paste themselves to the glass and become reflective, luminescent orbs of street lamps and traffic — glowing in green, yellow and red. Together, they blurred the background. Far off, in the distance, low-hanging clouds engulfed the Tower Bridge and stirred the waves beneath its fortress. 

 

In her back pocket, Rey could feel her phone buzz.  Just like all the others, she ignored the persistent alert and kept her eyes obsessed with the world outside the classroom.

 

“This has only happened a handful of times in American history,” the professor flipped to the next slide of her powerpoint. “Reasoning has varied from health concerns to assassination attempts…” 

 

The projector flickering reflected off the side of Rey’s face as the voice grew further and further until it was a distant whisper. Her professor spoke of words that had become insufferable to Rey a very long time ago. Muffled in a murk of thoughts; all she could hear was the rain drowning out the professor’s voice. 

 

Introduction to American Politics was designed for freshman. 

 

Rey had procrastinated the course for as long as she possibly could. She busied her schedule with electives entirely useless for her political science degree — ceramic for beginners, eastern literature and astronomy. However, graduation season was looming and the one class she needed to complete her credits had become inevitable. 

 

She had been in London for three months now. Her program delved into international politics and included a semester abroad. Ironically, the First Daughter had traded her patriotic lifestyle for parliamentary democracy and constitutional monarchy.  

 

London was close enough to feel safe, but far enough to stretch her legs. 

 

It was refreshing to walk down a street and not be immediately recognized by pedestrians or pestered by determined reporters. To experience a liberating and normal college experience, she just had to endure a three hour lecture that simplified her entire existence to contentions, definitions, and bulleted points on a powerpoint slide. 

 

At least the exams were easy. 

 

“ — Your final assignment is to write an essay analyzing and discussing a topic of American history that you are passionate about,” before the professor could finish her sentence, students were already beginning to stand and stuff their backpacks. 

 

Rey snapped out of her thoughts, finally peeling her eyes from the window. 

 

Other students were already putting in their headphones, exchanging party invitations, or shuffling out the door. The professor spoke louder to challenge the rising volume of the room. “Make sure you give credit to sources and make sure it is pertaining to American politics. Do not email me Sunday night, asking if you can write about Brexit. I will not respond!” 

 

Rey stood. She shimmied her jacket on, pushing her arm through the sleeve. She yanked her bag over her shoulder and ambled toward the door. 

 

“Rey?” 

 

She froze, tossing a look of displaced confusion but intrigued curiosity. 

 

“I just,” the professor struggled to formulate words. 

 

Rey interjected. “I’m okay.” 

 

“You stared at the window for the entire length of class.” 

 

Her balanced wavered; shifting between her feet. In her jacket pockets, she picked at fuzzballs that started to accumulate through dryer tumbles. It was difficult not having your clothing sent to a dry cleaning service — a skill Rey had to tackle immediately when she committed to dormitory life. 

 

“Your absences are becoming more frequent. I don’t want it to impact your grade — ” she searched for words, forcing a smile that tried to be sincere and convey empathy. “ — We can speak to the Dean, or the exchange board. I’m sure we can figure out supplementary work.” 

 

“I appreciate that,” Rey nodded. “I assure you, I’m doing okay. I won’t miss anymore classes.” 

 

Her answer was blunt and monotone — almost as if she was trying to convince herself. 

 

“Next week we are covering the presidents,” her teacher emphasized. “All of them.” 

 

Silence swept through the already desolated room. Rey remained silent. She could feel her senses begin to thin out — her eyes darkening around the edges, the present becoming distant as she dissociated. Yet, on the contrary, her heart started to beat sporadically. Anyone who knew her well could recognize it. Yet to a stranger — not so much. 

 

The professor opened her mouth again to speak. 

 

Rey interrupted. “I’ve had enough time to adjust. I appreciate your sincerity. I’ll see you next week.” Before the professor could argue further, Rey ducked through the doors and was immediately swallowed by the midday frenzy of the history hall between class periods. 

 

She pushed through students, ignoring her phone that continuously vibrated in her pocket.

 

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

 

_ Can you hear me?  _

 

The illuminated spotlight had momentarily blinded him as a medical examiner shifted the flashlight between both of his opened eyes. Above him, the room spun. 

 

_ I’m fine.  _

 

_ What is your name?  _

 

_ Benjamin Solo.  _

 

_ Where are you?  _

 

_ The National Gallery of…. _ He tried to sit up from the stretcher. The ambulance bounced over a pothole as his shoulder fell back down from deteriorating strength…  _ Art?  _

 

_ What day is it?  _

 

His head bobbed. The face of the medical examiner doubled, the corner of his vision darkened. 

 

_ Where’s Rey?  _

 

Suspiciously, a screeching noise  — metal colliding with metal — cantillated beneath the exchange and an ongoing siren. Ben’s eyebrows furrowed. The vehicle rattled over another bump, sending a pack of gauze off a nearby counter. 

 

His forehead smacked into the window of the subway, waking him from the daze immediately. He groaned, rubbing his temple. 

 

As the train flew through the tunnel, the safety lights flashed harshly into the cabin. It flickered between reality and the distant memory of a technician’s flashlight examining his bruised eyelid and dilated cornea — a pop and a burst of light, camera flashes, somebody yelling her name. 

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and counted down from ten until the noise stopped and all that occupied his brain was the sound of the train stopping. Around a bearing corner, the wheels howled in a whip of wind as the brake system shrieked. Other commuters rose to their feet or glanced at the map buried between advertisements of Netflix shows and concerts coming to the city. 

 

A robotic announcement broadcasted through the speaker system. “Next stop: H Street and Madison Place. Exit now for Lafayette Square, US Department of Veterans Affairs, and the White House.” 

 

Ben rose from his seat and excused himself past a student. She had brown hair, pulled up and mounted between a thick set of headphones. Her nose was wrong but he couldn’t help but do a double take before stepping out onto the platform. She sat down, stealing the seat he just vacated. 

 

The train lurched forward before whizzing out of the station. From the staircase and the street above, he could hear the familiar escalation of chanting. Ben climbed the stairway and was immediately engulfed by — yet another — demonstration consuming the park.

 

As he weaved closer to the security entrance, the crowd, simultaneously, grew thicker and angier. Pennsylvania Avenue was only a block away and as expected, the journey became ambitious. 

 

The days were becoming routine — dry; boring. There was never any excitement to get to work. Ben had no reason to be happy in the White House and slowly, the liveliness that surrounded his career seemingly disintegrated. 

 

Ben Solo would wake up, go for a jog, take a shower, and then cook breakfast for him and his father. Sometime in the months after the incident, his father had redacted his stubborn and adamant refusals to move to Washington. Now, he occupied the spare bedroom in Ben’s Dupont Circle apartment and worked shifts at a mechanic shop. 

 

Of course, Ben hadn’t realized this also meant the cat was a roommate too. Whenever Ben returned from a busy trip, he'd find cat hair in his bed and beer cans overflowing in the trash.

 

Every morning, he’d make the six thirty train and go through the extraneous but unstandable security checkpoint. He’d smalltalk with Agent Tico and they’d make their typical lunch plans for the day.

 

The whole ordeal just wasn't the same. Even the hallways of the White House seemed quieter; seemed darker. 

 

Ben chucked his duffel bag into his locker. He buckled his belt around his waist and tightened his shoelaces. The mirror that hung inside was cracked now. It stared back at him in silence, seemingly tearing apart his demeanor. Through the broken glass, he observed himself. Everything looked ordinary — a clean-shaven face, a splatter of moles in their usual places, and purple pools of sleepless nights bludgeoned beneath his eyes.

 

The photo was still hung in its spot. A magnet held it in place. It never moved. Even now. 

 

Beside it, a choppy cut-out of a newspaper shared the magnet. It was a photograph taken from the summer of the college tour. She had been on his back, begging to be carried after the long day. Her arms were locked tight around his neck.  She had been laughing at something Finn said, her skin grass-stained and scraped at the knees. 

 

The newspaper clipping was black and white, but Ben could remember. 

 

“Agent Ren." The voice was unapologetic and stern. 

 

Ears perked and heads turned. Ben stared at himself in the mirror. “Yes, Agent Hux?”

 

“The boss is requesting you in the Oval Office. Bring your bag." 

 

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

 

“Get over here and take a shot with me!” Her voice carried through the pub like a lightning strike. It was sloppy and clamorous, already contaminated by the gin in her glass. “London won and your girl passed her economics exam.” 

 

Skywalker Tavern was tucked down an alley close to campus. 

 

Every Friday night, the catina was packed with college students winding down for the weekend. String-lights were used liberally and strung from every bannister, the flat screens were playing the Olympic trials, and the dance floor was already a mess. 

 

Rey slid into the vacant barstool beside her roommate. “I’ll drink to that.” 

 

The bartender, an older man with a speckled beard, eyed the two girls as he poured their shots. He placed a round dish of limes in front of them. 

 

Finally, Rey was old enough to legally drink. She could be spotted in a bar, or with a bottle in her hand, and not face any nationwide retribution for it. And naturally, of course, her thirst to party was subsequently quenched and tiresome.

 

Her roommate flushed the shots easily — making the older men along the bar oogle. 

 

Torra Doza was an exchange student from Mexico. She was studying social sciences. It was a fitting purpose for her. Naturally, wherever she drifted, she carried an aura of compassion. Her eyes were always hidden beneath side-bangs while the rest of her hair sat in two buns. She always wore colorful makeup, accentuating the freckles that dotted beneath her eyes. 

 

For the past two weeks, she had been studying for this so-called economics exam. She had stayed up all night, hunched over her desk, with a lamp on. Now, as she in the midst of guzzling a third shot.  Rey never realized how much the pressure had taken a toll on her. 

 

Despite this, it was nothing Torra wasn’t acquainted to. 

 

Back in Mexico, her father was a governor. When it came to public scrutiny and being the daughter of a politician, Torra could easily empathize. 

 

They were neighbors afterall, and neighbors looked after one another. 

 

“How was class?” She sucked on her lime. 

 

Rey shrugged. “We went over the amendments. Everyone seemed so disinterested.” 

 

“Don’t take it personally. History is boring.”

 

Rey tilted her head back. Her eyes met the ceiling of the pub as she downed her shot. Her eyes watered at the edges as the scent filled her nostrils. She choked. “This tastes like New Years Eve.” 

 

> _ “Of course they were not drinking,” the Press Secretary had addressed the hounds of reporters. “They are only seventeen. They are not old enough to drink and they were not drinking at that party.” _

 

Rey smiled to herself. She wondered where her old friend was and what he was up to. She missed him beyond words. The pub scene in London was fun  — but it was no eighties nightclub. 

 

Suspiciously, her phone started to buzz again. It had been the fifth time just during her walk across campus. Rey withheld her annoyance as she struggled to free the device from her jacket pocket. The screen illuminated her entire face in the darkened bar.  

 

> _ (22) Missed Calls _
> 
> _ (18) Missed Text Messages _
> 
> _ (3) Voicemails  _

 

“You should answer those,” Torra side-eyed her friend’s phone. She scooted a bit closer, speaking loudly to challenge the live band. “You wouldn’t want anyone to worry.” 

 

Rey shrugged. She declined the call and placed it on the countertop. “They know I’m fine. I should just have my service turned off.” 

 

Torra laughed. Her breath smelled like tequila. “You’d have an American helicopter landing in the middle of Downing Street within five minutes.” 

 

“Hey,” Rey nudged her. “Do not tempt me. I love helicopters.” 

 

Torra continued laughing. “So do I,” her voice slurred after another shot. 

 

Whenever they drank too much, they both somehow acquired British accents. The first time it happened, they were mimicking the clerk at a Tesco. Now it was a ritualized part of their carousing afterhour amusement. 

 

Seconds after the last call, her phone illuminated again. The device vibrated, buzzing across the countertop and landing into Rey’s lap.

 

She stared at the name. 

 

Her friend said nothing. Instead, she stole Rey’s final shot. 

 

“I should  — “ Rey begun. 

 

Torra interrupted. “ — Kaz and Tam are here. I’ll go say hi.” 

 

Distractedly, Rey nodded. Her friend was already gone; consumed by the dance floor and the bodies that moved on it. She walked aimlessly, her thumb scrolling through the mounds of notifications. Even as she tried to clean them out, more came through. Outside, the sidewalk was occupied with drunk students hailing taxis. The bartender was sitting on an overturned milk crate, smoking a cigarette. He eyed her as she wandered by.

 

Rey pressed play. 

 

_ “Hey babe, it’s Finn. I just got back from Nigeria with my parents —”  _

 

She skipped the voicemail before crossing the street, ambling in the general direction of her building. Each step was falling a bit short, absorbed by the liquor that begun to beat through her veins. She felt warm inside despite the cooling drizzle.

 

_ “ — It’s your mother. Again. Do not make me fly —”  _

 

Skip. 

 

_ “— Hey, Rey. It’s — uh, it’s Poe… again.”  _

 

Rey froze. 

 

_ “Listen, I know you’re off exploring Europe and completing that abroad program — you probably have finals, or — whatever. Probably flooded in schoolwork. But, uh — Finn has tried you a few times… so has your mom. I’m not sure if your phone is working or not, but uh, we haven’t heard from you in a bit, and we’re worried and — let me just get to the point.”  _

 

Minced by gates and obscured by water running down the window, her face reflected the fluorescent glow of a storefront. The second-hand electronics shop was closed for the evening but the televisions were still on. Each screen, discounted and advertised in British pounds, broadcasted competing news channels. A variety of angles and reporters — all showing and saying the same thing. 

 

She could hardly stand straight, her knees close to surrendering. 

 

_ “Rey, I’m not sure how much you’ve been watching the news, but we need you. We need your wit — your charm, whatever.”  _

 

She stared at their familiar faces. She stared at the airplane on the runway. She stared at the parade of vehicles that pulled onto the tarmac. 

 

Her fingers gripped the phone against her cheek even harder. 

 

_ “He’s managing to hold some states. Ahsoka… she’s not doing too well. And, uh, I’m sure you know that — November is approaching. We could — really, really — use your endorsement. Just do one show… one speech, even a tweet would help us so much. I don’t know — anything. You know I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important.”  _

 

Whether it was the rain, or her own eyes, she felt a stream run down her cheek and soak the collar of her shirt. It was freezing in the wind, but Rey refused to forfeit. 

 

_ “Please… Rey. Help us. You know I wouldn’t be frantically calling and begging you, if it hadn’t been an emergency. We could really use a Kenobi.” _

 

Poe’s voice echoed through her empty thoughts. On the street, pedestrians continued to pass by. They were shielded beneath umbrellas and sent quick inquisitive eyes in her direction. At the intersection, a double-decker bus honked. 

 

_ “If you don’t do it for us — do it for him.”  _

 

On one of the many screens, a reporter filmed the President of the United States descending the stairs of Air Force One at Heathrow International Airport. The motorcade idled beneath with police sirens and flashing cameras. Protestors were screaming. 

 

Despite the commotion, he waved at the crowd. Rey felt her stomach flip, she could taste the liquor in the back of her throat as her mouth watered. 

 

There was silence over the phone. She could hear Poe still breathing into the voicemail; collecting his thoughts. He had sounded slightly drunk. 

 

Her eyes glossed over. She took a step forward. Blurred by the rain, the image of the bodyguard was unfocused and chaotic. He ushered the President into his car before slamming the door shut. Stopping momentarily, the man frantically ran fingers through his drenched black hair. He rounded the front of the car, adjusting his suit. The high beams illuminated his figure. 

 

_ “You’re our only hope, Rey.”  _

 

Ben faced the camera, ordering the reporters to step back. They shouted questions about the Prime Minister meeting with President Snoke. 

 

In her ear, the voicemail clicked and a dial tone beeped. 

 

Rey suddenly leaned over, heaving onto the sidewalk. 


	2. Et tu, Brute?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tag warning: mild graphic depictions of violence.

**Chapter Two**

Et tu, Brute?

 

* * *

 

Beneath the glare of a red moon, a man sat cuffed to a wooden chair. His ankles and wrist were bound. The abandoned warehouse was by shipyard and at this hour, no one would be around — would be able to hear.

 

Lamps swayed from the breeze of broken windows. Through the rafters, moonlight danced with the speck of disturbed dust. A train horn blared in the distance and he jerked awake.

 

He was sweating; blood trickling down his face from a wound trying to cauterize itself. He heaved forward, wrestling against the rope that only tightened further with his struggle.

 

Liquid dripped from leaking pipes. The ground swayed with the water beneath.

 

“Where am I?” He demanded. “I want to speak to my lawyer.”

 

Someone chuckled. The shadows seemed to move.

 

“This is illegal,” he cursed, his german accent thick. “I will have you all arrested — _killed_ — for this.”

 

Footsteps approached.

 

The tapping of their heels on the metal floor echoed and bounced between the four walls. A group of silhouettes parted and someone stepped forward slowly, coming into the shower of light.

 

The man’s face settled into a concerning, vile dismay of recognition.

 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Agent Ren remarked. His arms were crossed over his chest, the black compression shirt outlining the rivets of stained sweat and muscles. His hair was pulled back and out of his face — surely not to get in his way.

 

The man watched as he circled the chair, hunting like a shark in open water. He counted the seconds it took; for the moments he was blind as Agent Ren walked behind him. His pace was leisure; almost too patient. He had all night.

 

“I’m sure you know why you’re in this situation.”

 

The man ignored his comment. Instead, he spat: “You’re American.”

 

Silence swept the room momentarily.

 

“A bit unorthodox,” he added.

 

“An interesting assessment from an international terrorist.”

 

“Terrorist?” The man chortled. His teeth were stained red from tasting his own blood. “I’m not a terrorist. I’m the Chief E —”

 

“—Executive of Starkiller Weaponry,” Agent Ren’s circle came to a halt. He knelt in front of the man, getting closer. “We know exactly who you are, Dopheld Mitaka.”

 

“Then you know I have the resources to make you all very — _very_ rich men.”

 

“You won’t be able to buy your way out of this,” Agent Ren stared into Mitaka’s eyes, refusing to break the gaze. His eyes were watering in the corners; deep in brown and remorse. “Tell me about the _Resurgent_.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Agent Ren glanced over his shoulder. Four more men crept from the shadows. They held devices that glinted beneath the moonlight — sharp and sleek.

 

Mitaka choked, “T—The _Resurgent_  gun? One of a kind. It can pass through metal detectors.”

 

“The _Resurgent_ gun,” Agent Ren sung, sarcastically. He snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”

 

“If the Americans want to purchase —” Mitaka’s voice begun to plead. It split at the seams of his confidence and begged for reasoning. “ — It wouldn’t be an issue — I — give me my phone and I can make a call — I can have it shipped by dawn.”

 

Agent Hux stepped in from the doorway. He released the inhale of his cigarette slowly; watching the smoke gyrate to the scaffolding.

 

“I’m looking for information on a _very specific_ gun,” his voice emphasized. He was growing impatient; exhausted by the deadend every informant brought up. “The weapon you sold to the terrorist that killed Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

 

“I don’t know anything about that,” Mitaka shook his head.

 

Agent Ren inhaled deeply; closing his eyes.

 

“I swear,” Mitaka pleaded. He yanked on the bound harder, his movements shaking the chair.

 

“I don’t appreciate liars,” Agent Ren sternly admitted. His face was dripping with sweat now.

 

“I — I wouldn’t — “

 

“A _Resurgent_ -class gun was privately purchased at your Cuban cabana party in July — a month before the shooting that took place at the National Gallery of Art — the exact same gun, the exact same bullet shells, the — _exact same_ — serial number.”  

 

Mitaka opened his mouth to argue. Agent Ren grabbed his collar tightly to hold him still, his other fist meeting his jaw. It went slack; bruising purple.

 

Agent Hux released another huff; watching everything from the shadows.

 

“Tell me,” he was in his face now; screaming so furiously his spit decorated Mitaka’s face. “Tell me now or so help me —”

 

“— It was a — a girl!” He shouted. His head was bobbing on his neck. The chair rocked.

 

 _“WHAT GIRL?”_ Agent Ren demanded, his grip on his collar tightening further.

 

Mitaka begun to pass out. Agent Ren shook him — hard.

 

“What _fucking_ girl?”

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Some blonde woman — wanted to keep the deal under the table. She had the cash to make it work.”

 

 

> _“Ten o’clock. Three-piece suit. Blonde hair.”_

 

Agent Hux put out his cigarette. “End this, Ren. He’s talking out of his ass.”

 

He ignored his colleague’s plea. “What was her name?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“That’s just not good enough,” Agent Ren remarked.

 

“She was tall — could kill my own bodyguard. Said something about an Order — some sort." 

 

“Ren,” Agent Hux took another step forward. “He’s lying to live.”

 

“You sold an illegal firearm to someone who wouldn’t even give you their name?” Agent Ren restated. “What did you do? When you woke up and saw the news? That he was dead? That it was your weapon? You must’ve known we were coming.”

 

Mitaka begun to laugh… really laugh. It started in his belly and left him breathless. His lips were chapped — bleeding at the crevices. His one eye was swollen shut; bruising a deep purple. “Americans…” he taunted, almost smiling now. “Lady Liberty was my biggest buyer. How do you think you won all those wars? With primitive weapons?”

 

His lips twitched. He could smell the oil; could feel the hot sand beneath his cheek. He could hear the distant explosions when he tried to sleep at night with the other Marines.

 

Agent Ren stood. He shrugged, releasing the tension in his shoulders. Quietly, he turned away from the shackled billionaire. As he passed into the shadows, he nodded at the awaiting agents.

 

“Wait,” Mitaka begged. His eyes grew wide as the others approached him. “I told you the truth — come back here!” His questions went unanswered. His pleas became more frantic. “ _Please_ — I have a child!”

 

“So did President Kenobi,” Agent Ren responded.

 

Coated in a sleek of downfall, a blacked out Mercedes-Benz idled patiently. Agent Hux slammed the vaulted door shut. He chucked his cigarette to the ground, smothering it. The screams grew louder and louder; until they were silenced beneath a crack of lightning.

 

* * *

 

The clap of thunder jerked her awake.

 

She sat up straight in bed, breathing heavily. The nightmare slowly sunk away from the edge of her vision, revealing her familiar dormitory. In the back of her throat, a burning aftertaste of vomit resided. She groaned, reaching aimlessly in the dark to her nightstand for a bottle of water.

 

She cracked the lid off, tilting it back to quench herself.

 

A single drop fell.

 

Across the room, Torra mumbled in her sleep and rolled over in her own bed. She was still wearing her sequined outfit from the bar — yet only wore one heel. Her hair was tangled like a nest in the pillows.

 

Rey sighed, rubbing her eyes. The alarm clock read three in the morning.

 

She climbed from the mattress. A tingling sensation growing through her sleeping muscles; an ache that dispersed with each step she took. Careful not to wake her roommate, Rey slipped the heel off her foot. Quietly, she dragged the bedsheets up and tucked Torra into bed. She snoozed, sinking further into the duvet ocean.

 

In the bathroom, Rey pulled the faucet and ran the water cold. After splashing her face a few times, she cupped her palms and collected enough water to sip. With each swallow, the pain in her head drifted and the tequila shot was wiped from her memory.

 

Rey stared at herself in the mirror. She felt more like a lost cause than anything else.

 

The person staring back was not the Rey she knew — it wasn’t the Rey he fell in love with. Over the past few years, she had this uncomfortable sense that someone, or something, had been tinkering with her brain, remapping the neural circuitry, reprogramming the memory. The diplomacy that ran through her blood — the spirit of her family name — what had once been natural had become a struggle.

 

Rey turned the faucet off, allowing her face to drip onto the counter.

 

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before retreating to the darkness of the bedroom. Kneeling on the ground, she pulled her bottom drawer out. It was buried beneath mounds of clothing; yet her nostrils were filled with his scent the moment it met the air.

 

Quietly, Rey pulled the oversized sweatshirt over her head. She swam in it — the smoke of that logged fire in West Virginia and his cologne.

 

Pulling the front up and covering her face, she inhaled deeply.

 

> _The gravity was too strong to ignore. He could blame it on the breeze that did seem a bit more brisk, not that he acknowledged it. In the pocket of the hoodie she wore, their knuckles started to intertwine. Their hesitation softened into reassurance as their grips tightened and became more sure of themselves._
> 
>  
> 
> _She was warm._
> 
>  
> 
> _They were holding hands by the fire and there was absolutely nothing to say._
> 
>  
> 
> _Ben scooted closer and Rey pretended not to notice._
> 
>  
> 
> _It wasn’t even Vermont but it felt like home._

 

Rey stood up. Mindlessly, she walked across the room and pulled her phone from the charger. The screen illuminated her face in the darkness.

 

> **\- Rey | 3:06 AM -**
> 
> I’m in.

 

* * *

 

“You should leave the torture to the CIA.”

 

Ben flicked up his blinker. He ignored the comment, focusing on the road. The windshield wipers worked vigorously in the downpour.

 

“That could have been messy. The president is visiting the Prime Minister for diplomatic reasons. I’m sure the British government wouldn’t be pleased to know an international coup investigating terrorists linked to one of richest men in the world happened on their soil.”

 

“They don’t need to know,” Ben commented.

 

“You’re getting sloppy.”

 

“Three years and not a single lead,” he deadpanned. “How does that happen?”

 

Agent Hux shrugged. “They clean up well.”

 

“Or they have informants,” Ben considered. “How do you kill the most powerful man on the planet and get away with it?” He swerved into a side-alley leading to the accommodations.

 

“Maybe the truth died with the shooter.”

 

Ben placed the vehicle in park. “I refuse to believe Phasma worked alone.”

 

“You should not be wasting any time. He only has eight years to do twice as —”

 

The door slamming shut interrupted the fuss coming from the passenger’s seat. Agent Hux yanked off his seatbelt, climbing out of the Mercedes-Benz. Quickly, he skirted across the front of the car and followed Ben’s heel.

 

At this hour, the streets were quiet. A valet boy caught the keys that Ben chucked through the air. His hands were in the pockets of his pants now. His direction set on his hotel room and the shower that awaited him.

 

He probably had someone else’s blood _somewhere_.

 

“— twice as much to do.”

 

“Eight years is never promised,” Ben responded.

 

Agent Hux scoffed. “He will win the re-election. Tano and her crew of rebellious children are embarrassments to their entire party.”

 

“The same crew of rebellious children that almost defeated him last time?”

 

The front doors of the hotel whizzed open. The security in the lobby eyed them as they passed. Ben swiped his identification card over the elevator door, pressing the button for the highest floor. The security padlock blinked green.

 

“You have compassion for them,” Agent Hux tantalized further. “You want them to win.”

 

Ben’s jaw locked; then unlocked. He stared at the floor level as the numbers dwindled down to one.

 

“Questioning your loyalty to the president is concerning for such a high-ranking.”

 

Across the lobby, some of the security detail glanced in their direction.

 

Ben took a step closer to Agent Hux — his lips tight; his whisper low. “You don’t have to be loyal to protect.”

 

“You were loyal to Kenobi. You saw how well that worked out.”  

 

Ben’s fist tightened, his fingers twitching toward the holster on his waist. The apex of his fingers felt magnetized to the trigger — a thought of painting the walls of the hotel lobby in his colleague’s pride. Agent Hux smiled, his low lids following the movement and his knuckles as they grew increasingly bruised and blistered.

 

Their silence — the tension — was interrupted by the chime of the elevator.

 

Ben stepped in anxiously, his energy desperately needing exertion to anything — absolutely anything other than the thought that crossed his mind.

 

“Careful Ren,” his voice was striking yet remote, commanding Ben to halt in his step. He turned, finding a sneer that bred a smug stature in his stance. Beneath the fluorescent lighting of the hotel lobby, he belonged more to the shadows than ever before. “That your personal interest not interfere with orders from Leader Snoke.”

 

“President Snoke,” Ben corrected him. The elevator doors closed and he fell back against the wall, breathing heavily through lost words and tempted slaughters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok now this plot is kinda moving a bit let me hear those theories


	3. The Eagle

**Chapter Three**

The Eagle

 

 

Sometimes she appeared between passing cars or as another face in the crowd. 

 

It was starting to become his favorite time of the night; when she never changed and would appear between a thin, tangible fizzle of light that disrupted reality — but then he’d shake his head and remember the mirage was not real and the stability of his own mind was out of balance.

 

Everytime the investigation went in a new direction, it never lead to answers — only more questions. 

 

The interrogation of Dopheld Mitaka was another unsuccessful lead. Ben could feel the impatience of his colleagues growing. He was slowly coming to the realization that he was the only agent still pursuing the murder of their late boss with an unrelentless fever. Everyone else had given up, or had passed the torch to task forces and online conspiracy theorists.

 

Everyone, except Ben.  

 

Sometimes — when all hope was lost — he could feel himself inching closer to forfeiting. 

 

It would have been the easy thing to do: to finally grieve and accept what had happened. But then he’d pass her old (and newly renovated) bedroom in the halls of the White House, or find another photograph of her in his phone — and remember exactly why he was really doing all this. 

 

“Would you like a bag?” 

 

Ben glanced up at the man behind the counter. He raised an eyebrow in question. 

 

“It’s five p,” the clerk held up a plastic bag. Ben’s eyes shifted between the two of them. 

 

The drive back from the docks was tense — and that was an understatement. Agent Hux was a newly promoted and high-ranking agent now. He was no longer running patrols, but now traveling internationally with the president. Suddenly, a good friend and a pizza-lunch-buddy had morphed into a dangerous, spiteful conflict of interest. 

 

He had been the first agent to give up on the case. 

 

The type of gut feeling Agent Hux ensued was similar to that troubling sensation — the one Ben felt on the battlefield as a marine, or in Belfast, or in the moments before his life changed forever at the art gallery. 

 

Ben couldn’t think about sleep. He couldn’t even think. 

 

He just _ had to _ run; he  _ had to _ put his energy somewhere. 

 

So, his bedsheets remained undisturbed and his suitcase remained packed. He took the elevator back down to the lobby, passed the eyeing security detail and ran through the streets and alleyways until his legs were shaking, his tank-top was a shade darker from sweat, and his heart was close to bursting. He ran until the sun peeked over the horizon and started to wake London up. 

 

The open sign of a twenty-four hour convenience store flickered through the morning dew. Ben had wandered the aisles, filling his basket with mounds of junk, international products he wasn’t familiar with, and a few trinkets. The clerk (and a tabby cat on the counter) eyed him as he tried to decide between two different keychains — one with the famous ferris wheel and the other showcasing Buckingham Palace. 

 

“Can I add these?” He held out both keychains, incapable of choosing between the two. 

 

The man nodded, chucking the cheap tourist souvenirs into the plastic bag. “Your total is six pounds.” 

 

“Actually…” His voice trailed off. He rounded the corner, eyeing the shelves in search of one more item. Above the magazine rack, next to the sudoku puzzles, he grabbed a prepaid phone. “This too, please.”

 

* * *

 

Outside, Ben sat on the curb. 

 

He stretched his legs forward, wincing at the ache that grew somewhere between his shin and and calf. Along the laces of his shoes, a droplet of blood caught his attention. He stared at it as he fumbled with the packaging of the burner phone. 

 

> _ “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Some blonde woman — wanted to keep the deal under the table. She had the cash to make it work.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Ten o’clock. Three-piece suit. Blonde hair.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Agent Hux put out his cigarette. “End this, Ren. He’s talking out of his ass.” _

 

The investigation was already well aware of Phasma. She had died by her own bullet at the gallery and was named as the only perpetrator of the event. Despite the solid lead, her real identity, and her motivation for the shooting had died with her. 

 

Ben was certain of two things: Phasma had tried once before and she did not work alone. 

 

> _ “Time to go,” he didn’t falter. “You have dinner at Fiola with your mother tonight.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Rey scoffed. “Italian? Again?” _

 

The very first day Ben had assumed position as Rey’s personal bodyguard, she had dinner with her mom.  _ Ten o’clock, three-piece suit, blonde hair _ had zigzagged through the dining hall before bailing on the mission and fleeing the scene. 

 

It had only been the Scavenger and the Duchess that night attending the dinner. 

 

The Eagle had not been in attendance. 

 

People don’t just wake up and decide the day is nice enough to assassinate the Leader of the Free World. An operation such as that requires pre-meditation, strategic planning, inside knowledge, and an accomplice. Definitely an accomplice. 

 

Ben was sure of it. No matter how much his colleagues pushed it off — he was sure of it. 

 

Finally, he pulled his eyes from the stained blood and popped an off-brand swedish fish into his mouth. It was definitely too early for a phone call, but he did it anyway. As he chewed, Ben awkwardly used one finger to press each number on the keypad. His fingers were far too big for the old-fashioned flip-phone.  

 

He held the device between his cheek and ear, listening to the repetitive chime of a ringtone as pedestrians and early commuters began to pass by on the street. 

 

Someone answered. “H — Hello?” 

 

“It’s me.”

 

They yawned. 

 

“Do — do you have any idea — how  _ early _ it is?” 

 

“Jet-lagged.” 

 

“Sure.” By the tone of the person’s voice, Ben knew they had not believed him — yet his uncle had known better than to ask. “What can I do for you, kid?”

 

“Just wanted an update.”

 

“Now?”

 

“Please.” 

 

His uncle sighed. “She came to the tavern two nights ago — usual friend group.”

 

> _ The bartender, an older man with a speckled beard, eyed the two girls as he poured their shots. He placed a round dish of limes in front of them. _

 

“Right,” Ben chewed on another candy. “Torra Doza, Kazuda Xiono, and Tamara Ryvora.” 

 

Of course he did backup checks —  _ well, _ the secret service did backup checks. 

 

“Yup,” the voice yawned once more. “They started at the dartboard but moved back to the bar. She arrived later, though.” 

 

“She has class until seven every Friday.” 

 

The line remained silent for a moment. Before Ben could speak again, his uncle interrupted him. 

 

“She seemed quieter.” 

 

Ben stopped chewing. “What?” 

 

“She seemed… off. She wasn’t talking that much and kept checking her phone. She left early, all by herself. I caught her on the way out.” 

 

> _ Outside, the _ _ sidewalk was occupied with drunk students hailing taxis. The bartender was sitting on an overturned milk crate, smoking a cigarette. He eyed her as she wandered by. _

 

“Two nights ago?” Ben repeated and then:  _ The night we arrived at Heathrow.  _

 

“How’s your dad?” 

 

Ben ignored his uncle’s awful attempt at changing the subject. “Where did she go?”

 

“Probably back to school.” 

 

He glanced at the street sign. It was only five blocks away. 

 

As if his uncle already knew the thoughts processing in his head, he pleaded with his nephew to grasp reality. “Ben, you promised to give her space. You know she isn’t ready.”

 

“I’m not going to go see her,” Ben snapped. “It just helps to know she’s okay every once in a while.” 

 

“You’ve called four times in the past week.” 

 

A car sped by. The wind pushed his hair from his face. 

 

“Everytime I think I’m close to finding out who killed her father…” 

 

His uncle respectfully remained silence. 

 

“...It all just falls apart again.” 

 

“Somethings are out of your hands —” 

 

“No.”

 

“Ben —”

 

“No,” Ben stood up from the curb. “She thinks I abandoned her. Almost four years and still — nothing.” 

 

“— We both know that isn’t — is not — true. Your m—mother — my sister — named you after her father, you two were always meant to —” 

 

The phone beeped three times loudly. Ben cringed, pulling the device from his ear. Through the noise, he could hear his uncle pleading with him to be reasonable. The line cut and Ben groaned, chucking the burner into a nearby bin — somewhere the secret service would never find it — somewhere they would never know he was still keeping tabs on Rey Kenobi. 

 

* * *

 

> **To:** < ksella@london.edu >
> 
> **Cc:** < deanmothma@london.edu >
> 
> **From:** < rkenobi@students.london.edu >
> 
> **Subject:** Missing Future Classes
> 
>  
> 
> Dear Professor Sella, 
> 
>  
> 
> I’ve been thinking about what you said about my presence in the classroom. The truth is, I have had enough time to adjust but it still hurts. Introduction to American Politics is a course that freshman take and I’ve been pushing it off for four years now. I thought it would be easier on the study abroad program — away from other American kids and their personal opinions — but it’s just as hard. 
> 
>  
> 
> I’m graduating this spring and all I have left to achieve my degree is an internship. I was offered one, just last night actually, and I’m going to accept the position. 
> 
>  
> 
> I know you said my absences are getting too frequent but I will be missing a few more classes. Supplementary work won’t be necessary. I need this course — even if I’ve heard it all before. I’ll still submit assignments through email and I’ll write my essay on an American topic — I’ll even make it a full-length paper to replace my absences.
> 
>  
> 
> I already have a few ideas on what I want to write about. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sincerely, 
> 
> Rey Kenobi 

 

“Aaaaand,” Rey clicked the tracking pad of her keyboard. The laptop made a  _ swishing _ noise.  “Sent.” 

 

Across the dormitory room, Torra released a wretched noise that sounded somewhere on the spectrum between performative brooding and dying animal. She was hanging off the side of her mattress, upside-down, shoving SkinnyPop into her mouth until her cheeks resembled chipmunks. “I cannot believe you’re leaving me,” she whined through a full mouth. “How am I supposed to deal with these Tories without you?” 

 

“You’ll manage,” Rey replied. “You always do.” 

 

“I hope they don’t assign me a new roommate. No one else really understands the emotional baggage of politician’s kid like you do.”

 

Rey teased. “Maybe you’ll get a princess.” 

 

Torra groaned, even louder this time. 

 

“You could move in with Tam,” Rey’s smirk grew further. “Or… Kaz.” 

 

“Cut it out,” Torra warned. 

 

Rey smiled, glancing at her bed. It was disheveled — covered in folded laundry and an already full suitcase. “Do you ever feel like you leave a vacation with double the amount of stuff you arrived with?”

 

Torra ignored her. “He would never go for me —  _ pffft _ — I’m not his type.”  

 

Rey rolled her eyes. She turned back to her desk and opened a new tab in the web browser. In the search bar, she typed in and loaded Twitter. 

 

For the past few years, since the gallery, her page had remained remotely inactive. It took a while, but eventually she worked up the courage to log back in. Now, she mostly used it to read up on current events and stalk the hashtags. 

 

Every once in a while, she’d check on @DamnRebel and @FN2187. 

 

From what she could tell, Poe was still involved in activism. After his experience on the college tour, he had every opportunity in his pocket — job offers, television pilots, late night news correspondents and federal internships. His current gig was assisting on the presidential campaign for candidate Ahsoka Tano. 

 

He was also engaged to Rey’s best friend — an announcement she found out about while digging through her hundreds of missed voicemails (at least trying to dig through them). 

 

Finn decided against college. Instead, he was a fashion mogul and socialite that jumped from club events, to art installments, to movie premieres and international runway shows. From what Rey could understand, his relationship with his parents had improved since the gallery’s incident. They networked with their lobbyist colleagues and pushed for tougher gun laws. 

 

Most states had adopted the legislation. 

 

“I don’t even know if he likes me,” Torra continued. She shoved more popcorn in her mouth. “My dad would never approve. I mean, Kaz is from Japan — exactly  _ how _ am I supposed to make that long distance work?” 

 

“I heard his ski house is in Washington state,” Rey scrolled down her feed. She was only half-listening to her roommate’s typical tangent. This back-and-forth had been going on since the move-in day when Kaz accidentally spilled beer all over Torra in the bar. Now she never stopped speculating about the sparks  _ she swore _ she felt in that moment. 

 

“I live in Mexico City,” Torra deadpanned. 

 

Rey shrugged. “Same time-zone.” 

 

Her eyes shifted to the sidebar that listed the trending topics. Snoke was the first trend. Although Rey had hesitated, she clicked the hyperlink anyway and opened the conversation. The top tweets were from reporters and update accounts. The photos showed the President shaking hands with the Prime Minister from earlier that same day. 

 

“I wonder if he’s going out tonight.” 

 

“You know he loves the pub.” 

 

“You’re right,” Torra sat up in her bed. “We have to go.” 

 

Rey scrolled mindlessly until even her unconscious speculating was forced to stop. It was like derailing a high-speed train. She refused to blink. Her eyes were growing dry. The photo rendered, painting into her mind — his smile, his exhausted eyes, he hadn’t slept — and when she finally surrendered to blink, his face was all she could see in the darkness of her closed eyelids. 

 

_ “Oh, he’s cute.”  _

 

Rey jumped. Immediately, she slammed her laptop shut. Torra had snuck up on her and watched as she scrolled through the feed from over her shoulder. 

 

“Who was that?” Her roommate asked. 

 

“I don’t know?” 

 

“Looked like secret service to me…”  

 

Rey shrugged, shoving a hand through errant hair. “What were you saying about Kaz?”

 

“Oh, right!” Torra smiled devilishly. She placed her hands on her hips. 

 

Slowly, Rey leaned back in her desk chair. She raised an eyebrow in suspicion.  “What?” 

 

“It’s your last night in London. Let’s get drinks.” 

 

* * *

 

Agent Ren pressed on the gas, passing through another green light.

 

The blacked-out Mercedes Benz moved swiftly, undeterred by other traffic from the flashy and dramatic police escort. President Snoke moved like an invincible man, grappling attention wherever he presented himself.  

 

The day had been long after his run. He never got the chance to sleep. Instead, he showered and busied the day with following the President throughout his meetings with the Prime Minister. Even now, he could feel sleep creeping through the corners of his vision. 

 

Agent Hux sat in the passenger seat, arranging the departure for the morning.

 

“Foresee preparations for Air Force One,” he spoke into the phone. Someone replied on the other end. The chatter was inaudible, despite the silence of their ride. “We wouldn’t want the Eagle to be delayed.”

 

He had been against President Snoke’s codename. He thought they should have retired it. 

 

“Copy,” Agent Hux replied before hanging up. He glanced over at his colleague and stared with beady, small eyes. 

 

“What?” Agent Ren felt the heat of his glance. 

 

He remained silent, watching his colleague’s facial expressions. 

 

At the red light, Agent Ren glanced over. “Can I help you?” 

 

“Where did you go this morning?” 

 

“Where did I — go?” Agent Ren asked. He drummed the steering wheel, feeling his heart quicken in his ribs like a caged animal. 

 

“This morning,” Agent Hux repeated himself. “Security said you left the hotel.” 

 

“I went for a jog,” he responded gently. 

 

Agent Hux only nodded. It was stern. But he dropped the topic. His eyes shifted back to the road as the light turned green. The motorcycles passed through and Agent Ren convoyed them as they —  ** _SKRRRRRRT_** **_!_ **

 

They had come out from behind a stalling taxi. Their movements were quick and clearly inebriated as they laughed amongst themselves. They fell into the street — and into the darkness — only illuminated from the headlights of the president's car. 

 

It was too quick, but he had been faster. 

 

Immediately, Agent Ren slammed on the brake and swerved out of the lane. He spun past the two girls, narrowly missing them in the pedestrian crosswalk. Quickly, he regained control of the vehicle as it came to a screeching halt in the middle of the intersection. 

 

“What the fuck?” Agent Hux shouted. _“Are you serious?”_

 

Agent Ren stared ahead. The headlights illuminated their bodies. 

 

“Hey asshole,” Torra shouted, giving the finger to the darkness of the car. “Slow the fuck down! You’re going to kill someone!” She slurred her words, incapable of saying much more without giggling and falling against her roommate. 

 

Rey stood still and quiet. 

 

_ The motorcade. The American flags decorating the vehicle. The flashing lights.  _

 

Behind the wheel, he found himself incapable of moving. He couldn’t release the pressure on the brake. He couldn’t straighten the idled car out. He just stared back, ignoring Agent Hux’s commands. 

 

“C’mon,” Torra yanked on her arm. “Everyone is waiting.” 

 

Rey was undeterred by her friend dragging her off the concrete. She stared at the vehicle for as long as she could as they wobbled down the alleyway to Skywalker Tavern. Despite the three shots she downed at their pre-game, she felt as sober as ever before. Still, she couldn't process what had just happened. 

 

Through the windshield, Agent Ren watched her for as long as he could — until she disappeared around the corner and became another stranger on the street. It had been the first time he laid eyes on her in four years.

 

From the backseat, the glass partition whizzed down. 

 

The President of the United States glanced through, looking bewildered. 

 

“What happened?” President Snoke asked. “Is everything okay?” 

 

Immediately, Agent Ren straightened his posture. He put the vehicle into drive and drove forward, reuniting with the idling motorcade.  “Everything is okay, sir. Just some tourists running into the street.” 

 

“Aaah,” the president nodded. He glanced back down at his paperwork and the partition whizzed as it rose back up, closing off their separate cabins. 

 

It sealed shut. 

 

“That was Rey.” 

 

“Shut up,” Agent Ren's fist tightened on the steering wheel. Hearing her name come from Agent Hux’s lips felt wrong. He wanted to punch him, again. 

 

“Interesting…”  

 

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

 

Agent Hux glanced out the car window, watching the city of London pass by. “Very interesting.” 

 


	4. We Built Sandcastles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter took forever. My life got a bit crazy (the good kind of crazy)!

Chapter Four

We Built Sandcastles

* * *

  

_Silence had become a ritual. Noise was a deviation; a distraction._

 

_The hallway of the White House became shy — a place where politicians, reporters, and secretaries used to flurry in a rush. In the misery, particles of dust settled on the reminder of past presidencies. Veins of democracy were brooding. The portraits on the wall were haunting. The First Daughter felt like a fourteen year old girl again; terrified of ghosts in closets and monsters beneath bed frames._

 

_Satine sniffled and blotted her running mascara with a tissue. She was standing in the doorway of her daughter's bedroom and watching it all unfold. The shell of a lost soul was chaotically waltzing in the wake of disaster. She watched as the only attachment — the only string — to her family was untethering at the seams. She was shoving her life into boxes and suitcases — anywhere the fallen and broken pieces would fit._

 

_“The university would understand if you waited a semester. I can have Amilyn talk to the Dean.”_

 

_Rey's reply was far more blunt. "I'm leaving."_

 

_“You need to grieve. You need to come home."_

 

_“Do I need to be home? Or do you just want me home?” Blindly, Rey threw a photo frame across the room. It shattered on the floor; causing her mother to shudder. When she was younger; she always warned about playing with sharp glass. Now she danced on shards with bare feet. “Where is home anyway? Do you even know?”_

 

_Satine couldn't release the tension. She knew her daughter needed release. She knew she couldn't do it in public; in front of all those mourning faces. Instead, she tightened her grip on the tissue and plucked pieces away with feeble fingernails. "Vermont," she murmured._

 

_“My entire life,” Rey leaned on her overflowing suitcase while she zipped it shut. “I have spent my entire life living in a bubble, being paraded around — forced to stand in front of crowds and cameras.”_

 

_Satine took a small advancement; a tiny thrust forward into the bedroom. With each step, she felt the air grow thicker. It rested heavily on the shoulders that already felt the weight of her own head; of her own arguing thoughts: Let her go. Make her stay. Allow her to grow up. Be a mother. _

 

_“Most fourteen year olds get a cell phone,” Rey chucked her knickknacks into an empty cardboard box labeled to donate. “— Or a Nintendo. Finn got a hamster.” She turned to face her mother for the first time and found the complete opposite of the tidied and well-kept nature she usually emitted. Instead, her hair was erratic and wind-blown from the funeral. Tucked within the crinkles beneath her bloodshot eyes, her make-up was bludgeoned and smeared. She looked more human than she ever had before. “Do you know what you got me for my fourteenth birthday?”_

 

_Her mother stood silently._

 

_Rey crossed her arms. “Do you?”_

 

_Satine opened her mouth to speak but the words never fell out._

 

_“— A bodyguard,” Rey interrupted. “For my fourteenth birthday, you got me a bodyguard.”_

 

_“I understand your frustration —“_

 

_“You have no idea how I feel.”_

 

_The heat was coursing Rey’s veins now. She could feel her lips begin to tremble; the tears that begun to prickle in the corner of her eyes. Rey had refused to cry anymore than she had already. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced the yearning for familial love to just dig itself a fucking grave. Before she could stop herself, the words were spatting._

 

_“I was a kid when I had to say goodbye to my friends; to my home in Vermont. I was just a teenager when strangers decided to judge my appearance; my maturity. I couldn’t even enjoy my high school graduation without international terrorists trying to hurt my family. I was never allowed to make mistakes — I was never allowed to form my own identity. I have and always will be tied to this legacy that you forced onto me. I will never know what it is like to be normal. I will always only be the president’s daughter. I will never be Rey. I will never be a stranger to other people. I will never be able to hear my own name without picturing my father bleeding onto the floor of —“_

 

_Satine screamed._

 

_It was harrowing. It was unlike any emotion her mother had ever displayed before. She sounded like a dying animal; a wind released through a draft; a monster finding everlasting darkness. Rey stood in silence and stared. Her mother was heaving an ugly cry. It was the type that started in the stomach and leaked of snot and salt — her entire chest was hurling._

 

_It stabbed Rey where a wound was already trying to heal beneath antibiotics and stitches._

 

_“You didn’t just lose your father,” she screamed. “I lost the only man I ever loved. And now — every single time I look at you…”_

 

_Rey shifted in her balance._

 

_Her mother sat on the corner of her daughter's bare mattress. She refused to face her._

 

_Rey whispered. “Say it.”_

 

_Satine shook her head. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand leaving a slate streak._

 

_“Say it. Please.”_

 

_“Every single time I look at you…” Her mother raised her chin, she glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll see him.”_

 

_Rey scoffed. It came out harsher than it should have._

 

_“You know he loved you as his own.”_

 

_“You never really cared about me. You reminded me every time I made headlines.”_

 

_“Rey.”_

 

_“You picked me out like a puppy to feed your fantasies. You needed a wholesome American family to win the presidency.”_

 

_“It was a mutual decision to adopt and it was because we wanted a family — well before your father got into politics."_

 

_Rey felt her knees buckle. She sat on the side of her mattress and caught her head in her palms. Immediately, she let the tears fall. She closed her eyes. She could see it like a movie. It became a dream she only imagined in the quietest; loneliest nights._

 

_She was just a toddler. Her brunette hair was always in three-buns because the older girls in the home loved to braid and weave. One of her front teeth was still trying to grow into sore gums. She could remember the warmth of the sandbox so clearly — she could feel it in her palm even now. It was wooden and painted of different colors. The other kids were busy with swing-sets and slides and jump-rope to be bothered with the simplicity of dunes. So Rey had spent the summer building castles and kingdoms out of the shell of buckets; molding their edges and shapes with her tiny hands. She would let the dust run through her fingers and stain her jeans. She dreamed of being a princess and ruling her own land one day._

 

_And then they arrived — young and happy and hopeful to start a family when biology never allowed them to._

 

> _"What's your name?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Rey."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"How old are you Rey?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Five," she had mumbled. "They think."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"You're like a little scavenger, huh?"_

 

_And he had knelt right down into the sandbox and asked if he could help her build sandcastles. He was younger and still wore glasses. He smelt like pine and smiled warmly. She hadn't realized when she woke that morning; that it would have been her last day at the orphanage._

 

_“He wanted to become a politician to create a better world for you to live in. Whether you want to accept it or not, you are a Kenobi. You always have been and you always will be.”_

 

_“The last thing he told me was that I made him proud," she sobbed. "I can't let him down."_

 

_Satine pulled her daughter into a hug. It was warm and reassuring. Her daughter’s head was tucked into the nook of her neck like a child afraid of the dark. She wept into her, filling the pools of her collar with her tears._

 

_“Do not let anyone get in your head. Stay focused. You may not have our blood, but you have our name. Do something with it.”_

 

_Rey squeezed. She squeezed her eyes shut. She squeezed her mother. She squeezed the acceptance letter in her hands._

 

* * *

  

"One more hug." 

 

Before Rey could slip from her grip, Torra yanked her back into the perpetual embrace. Strangers gave dirty looks as she tried to shimmy their luggage past them in the doorway. 

 

"I board in forty minutes and I still need to get through customs," Rey protested. "You're choking me, Torra!"

 

"I'll never love again," she whined dramatically.  

 

Rey laughed, shaking her head. "You're making this so much harder than it already is." 

  

Just when Rey thought the hug had ended, she found her face cupped in Torra's palms. She squeezed them tightly, forcing her lips into a pucker. Torra narrowed her eyes, studying her friend's face. "Do you have everything?" 

  

Rey smiled —quite angelic despite bloated cheeks. "I triple-checked in the taxi." 

 

“Passport?” 

 

Rey nodded. 

 

“Phone?”

 

Rey nodded again.

 

“British accent?”

 

Rey shoved her friend's forearms, breaking free with a laugh. Torra planted kisses on both cheeks and fixed her friend's side bangs. She sighed, taking a step away from the security line. 

 

"I guess this is goodbye." 

 

"We'll see each other again." 

 

"Is that a promise?" 

 

"I've got connections," Rey tossed a smile over her shoulder as she passed through the one-way security doors.

 

Through the glass, she waved longer than she should have. Torra was a girl her age that became her best friend. Where Finn couldn't but tried to understand, Torra was able to. She was another politician's daughter — lost but surrounded by friendly smiles. She was just like her; trying to break from a surname and make the most of her own embodiment. A kid that had training wheels for far too long. 

 

Torra had come into Rey's life when she most needed her. But now they needed to part. 

 

_“Aaaah, mi sol."_ Torra sung as she waved back. She clasped her chest.  _"Off to conquer the world.”_

 

* * *

 

“I told you not to call my real number.”

 

“Kind of difficult to call a burner phone back,” his uncle responded defensively.

 

“What is the problem?" Ben tucked the cell-phone between his shoulder and cheek. "Under forty seconds before I’m tapped.”

 

“She came in last night. She looked shaken up.”

 

Ben paused from packing. He stared at his wristwatch to keep track of the ticking hand. 

 

“I got her talking at the bar," Luke tried to balance details with timing. "She mentioned the motorcade.”

 

He felt his chest flutter. “I thought I imagined her.”

  

> _“You’re here every night now,” he had commented._
> 
>  
> 
> _Rey just replied with a bemused shrug. She was too busy over-analyzing what had just happened in the street — at the intersection with the cars that waved her homeland’s flag._
> 
>  
> 
> _The bartender tossed a rag over his shoulder. He leaned over the counter and rose his voice over the karaoke music, “Are you okay?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _And then she had looked up at him; at the stranger that worked the alleyway pub every single time her friends passed through. He was always patient when they laughed too loud or caused a drunken scene, he had called a taxi that one night she was far too drunk to walk, and he had even allowed her to use the employee-only loo when the drunken tourists weren’t the kindest about her father’s political agenda._
> 
>  
> 
> _She stared at him — her eyes weeping of red and swollen tears. “Do I look okay?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _When she said it, she hadn’t meant to sound so rude. Despite the tone, the kind stranger had the patience to shrug off the offense._
> 
>  
> 
> _S_ _he tilted back her glass, downing the vodka._
> 
>  
> 
> _He lifted a bottle. "Refill?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Rey pushed the glass forward, watching him tip the glass. He was generous about it._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Thanks,” she mumbled._
> 
>  
> 
> _“So,” he returned the bottle to the shelf. “Are you going to tell me what’s got you down?”_

  

"Was she with her friends?" Ben asked. 

 

"They were watching the game. She was lost in her thoughts." 

 

He stayed silent. Thirty seconds. 

 

> _The man’s posture was solemn; even despite the chaos of the home team scoring on the flat screens. The pub exploded with thunderous applause._
> 
>  
> 
> _Rey’s eyes drifted to the glass. She fixated on the ice sloshing through her drink as they melted into the poison._ _She thought of all the things she could say: a disappointment, a waste of potential, the scion of a murdered legacy. Instead, she shrugged through the slurred thoughts and busied herself with futile actions._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Why are you here?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Rey gave up hiding her aggravation. She pushed the full glass out of the way, sliding it down the counter. “My roommate wanted to get drinks —”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The man — weathered from age or wisdom or perhaps both — took a strong step forward. “Why are you here?” He interrupted sternly._
> 
>  
> 
> _Rey paused and stared at him._
> 
>  
> 
> _He only stared back._
> 
>  
> 
> _Their eyes met for what had felt like several minutes. With no explanation, Rey had felt like she was staring into the soul of someone she already knew. Slowly, she blinked away the dryness that obscured her vision._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Something…” she begun, “inside me… has always been there. And now it’s awake. And I’m afraid. I don’t know what it is. Or what to do with it. And I need help.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The man kept his blank expression._
> 
>  
> 
> _With every passing second, Rey felt foolish. She was any other patron at the pub, pooling in the depth of their intoxication and opening up to the bartender about their personal woes. She sighed, pushing the barstool back._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Wait,” he urged. “Sit.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I have to go. I still have things to pack.”_

  

"She said — pack?" 

 

Ben stood up straight. He was in the midst of packing his own luggage to return to the states. The President's diplomacy mission in London had come and gone in a weekend. For the smallest sliver of time, he was in the same time-zone as her and now they were racing back home. Together. 

 

Luke repeated. "She said pack." 

 

He was visibly flustered. He didn't know what to make of the information. 

 

His uncle sighed. "It's an election year, isn't it?" 

 

"Ahsoka Tano is running against President Snoke," Ben responded matter-of-factly. "For re-election." 

 

"I'm a bit busy with my own Brexit drama, but wasn't she Kenobi's Vice President?"

 

He glanced at his wristwatch. "Ten seconds." 

 

"That isn't a coincidence, Ben. You need to make a choice." 

 

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

 

"You cannot be President Snoke's bodyguard if Rey is working with Ahsoka. You cannot be standing on opposite sides of this election." 

 

"You told me to stay away from her." 

 

"This is — _different_. You know it is." 

  

> _The bartender stared at her. “I feel like I'm looking at your father right now.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Rey stopped in the midst of yanking her jacket on. She glanced over her shoulder at the stranger._
> 
>  
> 
> _“And who are you?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Who am I?" He chuckled, brushing his fingers through a peppered beard. "Who are you?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"You know who I am," Rey deadpanned._
> 
>  
> 
> _"The world doesn’t know? And who’s fault is that? You have forgotten yourself and you have forgotten your father.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I did — not forget my father. In fact, I don’t think I can go a DAY without being reminded of him.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The bartender took her empty vodka glass and the British cash she threw in its place. “There are other ways to forget people.”_

 

Ben stayed silent. His hotel room was empty but filled with his thoughts. Fingers raked through his darkened; unbrushed hair. 

  

Suddenly, the connection was disturbed by white noise. It hummed in the background. 

 

For the past few weeks, as Ben closed in on the people responsible for Kenobi's murder, he knew he was being watched more. Agent Hux had been growing more suspicious and the president was keeping his leash tighter and tighter. He wasn't just paranoid anymore. 

 

“My apologies, sir. I must have had the wrong number.” His uncle commented before disconnecting the call.

 

He fell back on his bed, chucking his phone across the room. He stared at the ceiling for several moments. The room spun and his knife wound from Belfast was tingling — but somehow Ben Solo forced a grin.

 

* * *

 

Rey took another step forward. Slowly — but surely — the line ushered further and further. Eyes glued to the ground, Rey convoyed the stranger that stood before her. When they stepped forward; she followed on cue.

 

Despite the maintained focus, Rey’s mind was floating above her body.

 

The world was spinning everywhere around her. It buzzed with life; humming to the beat of its own song. Instead of tapping along to the beat, Rey found she was curling into herself. The margins were folding over like tucked ears in a closed book. She was bent at the seams and zippered shut. The world was begging for attention but she collapsed into her own thoughts; orbiting the questions that left one worded answers.

 

She couldn’t stop thinking. She couldn't stop second guessing her decision. 

 

It wasn't too late. She hasn't gone through customs yet. She could abandon this. 

 

Just stop — _fucking_ — thinking. _C’mon Rey. It isn’t that hard._

 

Her fists clenched. Her jaw locked.

 

_Just shut down. Just. Shut. Down._

 

_Just you did at the funeral: shut down._

 

She took another step forward.

 

In her pocket, her phone chimed. 

  

> **To:** < rkenobi@students.london.edu > 
> 
> **Cc:** < deanmothma@london.edu >
> 
> **From:** < ksella@london.edu >
> 
> **Subject:**  re: Missing Future Classes
> 
>  
> 
> Good morning, Rey.
> 
> I spoke to the Dean and the Bursar office back at the Philadelphia campus. We all agreed that you have performed above-average in all your courses to prove academic integrity and excellence. As long as you submit your essay, via email, before the end of the semester — I will give you a passing grade for Intro to American Politics and you will be able to graduate next month with your classmates.
> 
> Good luck on your adventure, 
> 
> Professor Sella 

Rey took a deep breath — a long, hearty inhale. The type of inhale that made your ribs ache.

 

> _“I don’t want to disappoint you and mom.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“You could never do that.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I have before. I could again.”_

 

Suddenly... she smiled. It felt weird stretching those muscles — in a meaningful, natural way.

 

She read the email again. And then again. She re-read the email so many times until she could remember every single word. 

 

Torra was rooting for her. Her professor was rooting for her. Finn and Poe were going to be by her side. She would be surrounded by the familiarity of home once again. All she had to do was believe in herself. 

 

> _“You were just a child then._ _Even if you did… always remember that progress is never linear. It is a continuous spectrum of evolution and growth. Sometimes you have to take a step back so that you can take two steps forward on the next move._ _Being a kid should not involve shame or embarrassment. You were trying to ruse and navigate your way through gaffes and blunders, always impressing someone else, meeting expectations, and growing up too fast.”_

 

All she wanted to do was make her parents proud. And now that opportunity was only a step away from her. 

 

“Lot of stamps in your passport.”

 

Rey snapped out of it. She glanced up from her phone in the midst of bewilderment. “Huh?”

 

The TSA agent chuckled. He was an older gentlemen — soft-spoken and friendly looking despite the wear of age. The blue uniform was definitely not his color. In reaction to her puzzled expression, he held up the American Passport — navy in color and crinkled from years of use.

 

“Czech Republic, Italy, Peru… Morocco.”

 

“I’ve always been a bit of a wayfarer.”

 

The agent raised an eyebrow. “Where are you off to next?”

 

“America.”

 

“Riveting.”

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

He rubbed the ticket on a scanner. His eyes glanced back and forth between the name.

 

Rey awkwardly stood there, the line cumulating behind her at the security check.

 

“I’m glad you’re as humble as you seem on television.”

 

Her lips fastened into a tight, forced smile. 

 

“My daughter wrote a report on you. She’s only thirteen but it was still impressive.”

 

Her walls crumbled. “Really?”

 

He nodded, handing the passport and ticket over the counter. “I hope you have a safe trip back to America, Miss Kenobi.”

 

“Thank... you." 

 

Rey pushed her items into her carry-on luggage. Quickly, she shuffled through the security doors. Rey couldn't fathom a way to process this much information all at once. Saying good-bye to Torra, remembering to check her voice-mails, reading that email, knowing Air Force One was somewhere at the same terminal... It was like getting back into the game after an off-season. She was stretching muscles, catching her breath and chasing adrenaline.

 

Before the doors could seal Europe off from her completely, she ducked her head back in and met the eye of the agent.

 

He raised a brow. "Forget something?"

 

"No, actually." Rey stood straight. “What… was the report on? The one your daughter wrote?" 

 

“Write about your role model and why you idolize them.”

 

> _“I will never resent the wondrous lessons of childhood that blossomed the person in front of me today. Please do not ever think otherwise.”_

 

Rey nodded curtly. Finally, she took that step and entered Heathrow International Airport with a smile spreading across her face. 

 


	5. 20 Something

**Chapter Five**

20 Something

* * *

 

_“Please state your first and last name for the record.”_

 

_His eyes betrayed him. They followed the federal agent’s gesture and settled on a tape recorder in the middle of the table they shared. For a generous beat, he collected his thoughts and pondered on how a question so simple could be so difficult to answer._

 

_“Benjamin Solo.”_

 

_The interrogation room was isolated and vignetted by shadows. He could feel them inching closer to the center of the room — to his vulnerable position._

 

_“Benjamin,” the agent repeated before continuing, “where do you work?”_

 

_Behind closed eyes, he could visualize the script his lawyer had worked out. Scattered, belly rumbling anxiety caused him to shuffle at the feet and skip a few words. “I work for the Department of Homeland Security as a special task force agent within the White House complex.”_

 

_“How long have you been an agent for the department?”_

 

_Somewhere in the past tense — a bullet ricocheted. He grasped at nothing and plucked nervously. It had only been two days — he figured — since the gallery. Somehow, he had not slept or ate or showered. The Federal Bureau of Investigation had already swept the case from the local jurisdiction. And well… here we are._

 

_It was real. It had happened. Everything felt different._

 

_“Four years ago,” Ben disrupted the longing silence. “I started shortly after…”_

 

_An officer standing crossed his arms. The other raised a single brow over a notepad._

 

_Ben stammered. He scratched his forehead. “…After the president took the oath of office.”_

 

_“What was your assignment?”_

 

_“I worked patrol on international presidential trips. I was promoted after Belfast.”_

 

_“Why were you promoted?”_

 

_He could almost feel it. Her fingers trembling as they caressed the knife wound — her eyes searching through the dark of their parked car. Their small moment of silence when the world stopped revolving._

 

_Ben tried to ignore the pacing agent and his discontented manner._

 

_“The Empire led a failed assassination attempt. Wilhuff Tarkin was taken into custody.”_

 

_Finally, the officer that paced the room had spoken up.“What was your new assignment after being promoted?”_

 

_He felt his lips tremble as they did **that** thing._

 

> _“You’re getting a new assignment.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Ben stammered. “A new assignment?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Being a part of the president’s personal team of operatives was the most active part of the job. He didn’t watch the front gates or check identification cards for daily school tours. Instead, he traveled the world and got to shoot a gun every once in a while. It made life interesting._
> 
>  
> 
> _A new assignment could jeopardize the very reason he loved his job._
> 
>  
> 
> _“You saved my life in Belfast. That kind of courageous and altruistic behavior is rare to come by. It is why I am giving you the most important position in my security team.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _He swallowed hard. There was only one outstanding role at the moment._

 

_He exhaled, “I was appointed the leading security agent for the president’s daughter.”_

 

_Across the table, the security agent went into a spiel. He read off a piece of paper for the sake of the record. It was mostly logistical things — his job description and what the day-to-day had to entail. Those small technicalities that Ben had come to love. His vision obscured through dry eyes fixating on the pen dancing across paperwork._

 

_“Would you say that is correct?” The officer asked._

 

_Ben snapped out of it. He glanced up and blinked. “What?”_

 

_The officer that was pacing came to a stop. He leaned over the table and eclipsed the one spotlight coming from a ceiling fan. “We asked you about your relationship to Rey Kenobi.”_

 

_“I was her bodyguard.”_

 

_“Witness testimony describes a more personal relationship.”_

 

_Next to him, his lawyer tensed up._

 

_“I was her bodyguard,” Ben leaned forward and spoke through gritted teeth. “I knew where she slept, what she ate and when she showered. Is that personal enough for you?”_

 

_The room sat in uncomfortable silence._

 

_Ben stared into the discontented agent’s eyes. He stared back. They both refused to waver._

 

_His colleague cleared his throat, “Another inquest mentioned your relationship to the president. Is there a reason he took a special liking to you?”_

 

_Finally, Ben broke the gaze._

 

_“Why is any of this related to the case? Shouldn’t you be tracking down the people that carried out this attack?”_

 

_“The attack that happened under your protection?”_

 

_His lawyer interrupted, “Do not insult my client.”_

 

_“He was childhood friends with my mother.”_

 

_“Your mother…” the agent turned a page and read from a highlighted section. “Leia Organa, killed by Empire sympathizers at the embassy in Berlin?”_

 

_Ben suddenly stood._

 

_The pacing agent stopped just as abruptly. He grabbed at his holster. The world stilled as his own blazing eyes met Ben’s. He raised a catechizing eyebrow._

 

_“My client has security clearance and was personal friends with the First Family. If you are not going to ask questions relevant to the case then we will leave.”_

 

_“We are just formulating a profile on every corroborator.”_

 

_“You’re probing for a conspiracy,” Ben choked back tears. “I was loyal to my job and I was loyal to the Kenobi family. He — took care of me just as much as a parent would.”_

 

_For a single beat, the Earth spun backwards. After an approving nod from his colleague, the standing agent released his grip on his handgun. He took a step back and fixed his posture._

 

_Ben sat quietly and hung his head. With a knuckle, he wiped away any proof of grief._

 

_Just as much, he felt like he lost another parent._

 

_“Were you aware of the threat made prior to the event?”_

 

> _“We received an anonymous tip of a threat against my family.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Ben’s heart stopped. He clenched his whiskey glass tighter._
> 
>  
> 
> _“How probable is it?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“The agency is looking into the threat. As you know, these threats are common but something about this one gives it credibility and we need to secure the loose ends before the gala.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Something about this one?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The president nodded. He turned away from Ben, his hands grasping the edge of his desk. Outside the compartment, the engines were humming in acceleration. Somewhere, down the corridor, he could hear people discussing in the absence of their own voices._
> 
>  
> 
> _“It mentioned Belfast. It might be the Empire. It might just be a scare tactic. We don’t know.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“And Rey?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I’m…” the president collected his thoughts. “I’m worried about her.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Ben sat down. He swung the alcohol back._
> 
>  
> 
> _“The gala will still continue.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“President Kenobi, if I may—“_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Benjamin, we receive these threats on a daily basis. Just because this one mentions the previous attack, does not mean it has anymore stature then yesterday’s. We cannot surrender to fear, especially this close to the election.”_
> 
> _“I—“_
> 
>  
> 
> _“She cannot know.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“That isn’t fair to her.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“It’s her first public eve_ _nt and she’s speaking. She cannot be afraid.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Her life is endanger.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“It is not endanger. She will be protected.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“You’re asking me to lie to her?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I’m your boss.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“You’re her father.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The president froze for a moment. He had heard that plea before, far too many times._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Promise me, no matter what, you will stay on your feet and protect Rey at this event.”_

 

_“The president told me in confidence. He asked me to focus my attention wholly on his daughter.”_

 

_“Is there a document of this request?”_

 

_“No,” Ben admitted. “We had spoken about it in his office aboard Air Force One. The information was meant to only be shared with me.”_

 

_“Did you speak about anything else during this meeting?”_

 

> _“Sir,” Ben straightened his suit, his fingers frantically begging to fumble with anything—absolutely anything. It was a habit he had grown into to deal with the stress. “Your daughter and I are together.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The President forfeited any prior commitment. His movement completely halted. His hand hovered over the paperwork he was reviewing, the tip of his pen still touching the paper and bleeding a blotch through the stack._
> 
>  
> 
> _In the short endeavor of being Rey’s bodyguard, Ben had made plenty of mistakes, and lots of those mistakes were enough to have him fired; had he not been the only son of Leia Organa._
> 
>  
> 
> _Rey had run off so many times, she had gotten into fights, escaped to gallivant through the demonstrations, had given him unbelievable attitude and had made him feel so strongly about her that he was willing to bruise another to keep her safe._
> 
>  
> 
> _Yet, falling in love with Rey and finding a home in her presence was not one of those mistakes and Ben was prepared to lose his job for that._
> 
>  
> 
> _“I know.”_

 

_Ben lied, “No.”_

 

_The president had been a disheveled mess that evening. It felt like alcohol to a cut just thinking about it — how he was right — how he was going to die._

 

_And Rey’s father died knowing they were together. And he was okay with it._

 

_Except, now, they weren’t together anymore._

 

_His daughter was drugged and sleeping in a hospital bed. She would wake up to the news that her father was gone, surrounded by balloons and shitty Hallmark cards. She didn’t even know what had happened yet. She’d wake but the nightmare wouldn’t end. And Ben would be long gone — either fired or thrown into prison from this conspiracy they were trying to conjure up from missing puzzle pieces and redacted information. There had been a moment when he considered if she’d even want to see him again — knowing that his job was to protect them and that he had failed._

 

_It was his fault, he was sure of it ._

 

_The agent intruded his thoughts, “Were you working at the National Gallery of Art on the night of August 28, 2024?”_

 

_His palms grew clammy from sweat; licking for salt and begging to hold the ghost of her._

 

_“Yes,” Ben nodded._

 

_“So,” the officer glanced over his notes. “The two times the president was targeted for an assassination attempt — you were present?”_

 

* * *

 

 

Ben jolted awake.

 

His breathing was labored as he leaned over his gut, heaving whatever misery was provoked by his dreamland that night.

 

Across the bedroom, his suitcases were stacked and untouched by thrown clothing and kicked Oxfords. In the early morning, Air Force One had landed back in the capital after their small weekend trip over the pond.

 

His forehead had been plastered to the window and mesmerized by the twilight’s reflection off clouds for the entirety of the flight. Every time they passed a distant airplane — a small red beacon of light in the dark — he’d wonder if it was her.

 

The air felt different when they landed. Such a small breeze before a hurricane.

 

Downstairs, the television was on and the kitchen reeked of sausage and eggs.

 

His father was standing at the oven with a dishrag draped over his shoulder. Food sizzled when he flipped a spatula. He glanced over, “When did you get in?”

 

Ben eyed the cat on the counter. It eyed him back. He deadpanned, “Around three.” He chucked the two keychains he bought from that store onto the counter, “For your collection.”

 

Han grinned at the souvenirs. “Hungry?”

 

He nodded and took a seat at the island.

 

“Must be nice to travel,” Han’s voice was husky as he spoke. Ben wondered if he was smoking again. “Did you at least get some time to yourself? Visit your uncle?”

 

“We spoke.”

 

Han smiled smugly. He knew Ben didn’t particularly care for Luke.

 

He placed down a plate, some utensils and a glass. As he poured orange juice, he eyed his son’s knuckles and the lavender bruises that decorated them.

 

“We were too busy to have fun,” Ben answered without his father needing to speak a word.

 

“I see,” Han remarked.

 

Beneath the table, the cat snaked between Ben and the chair legs. It purred obviously loud and the vibrations of its body rubbed itself against his calves and shins.

 

“Shoo,” Ben hissed. He flailed his hands.

 

“The cat missed you.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure. He probably showed it by bringing more dead mice and scratching my furniture up.” Ben rolled his eyes as he sipped his orange juice. “Are you ever going to name this thing?”

 

Han shook his head. “If I name it, it’ll think it lives here.”

 

“Dad… You’ve had this cat for five years. You brought it with you from Chicago. It lives here.”

 

His father shrugged and returned to the oven. He switched off the burner. Ben tried to spit-up the cat hair that somehow made its way into the juice.

 

“Do you have work today?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Ben responded. “As we get closer to the election, I won’t have many days to myself.”

 

“Have you considered a career change?”

 

Ben laughed wholeheartedly. “At least my job is lucrative. Dupont isn’t exactly a cheap neighborhood. Are you going to start paying rent?”

 

His father frowned.

 

“That’s what I thought.”

 

Across the room, the television set played the anthem of the morning news. Ben glanced over to the screen and the cardinal **_Breaking News_** banner. He grabbed the remote and pressed the volume control. His father halted at the oven.

 

> “It seems the cherry blossoms aren’t the only thing making a comeback this spring,” the reporter smiled white veneers and batted sparkly eyeshadow. “Rey Kenobi was spotted at Dulles International Airport this morning.”

 

Ben did not have to turn to know his father was staring at him. He could feel it.

 

A video taken off someone’s cell phone showed Rey running into the arms of her friends. Finn picked her up and spun her around while Poe threw suitcases into the backseat of a Tahoe. They were all grinning and talking fast.

 

His heart stopped. _She’s here. She’s really home._

 

> “This follows a set of rumors that the young politician would be joining Ahsoka Tano’s presidential campaign. Ahsoka ran as Vice President alongside the late Obi-wan Kenobi in 2020 and 2024. After a loss in the 2024 elections, it was heavily questioned if she would run again on the 2028 ticket against her longtime opponent — President Andy Snoke.”

 

The screen switched to a slideshow of photographs.

 

Some were just Ahsoka at luncheons and ceremonies. Then it was candid photos of Rey during their summer presidential tour. She was wearing that purple sweatshirt and running through a field with grass-stained knees. She was standing on a stage and speaking to a crowd. She was hugging her dad on the tarmac. She was posing next to the F-18 they flew together.

 

Her hair was windblown with a smile tossed over her shoulder at her bodyguard — at him.

 

Ben hung his head.

 

> “Sources tell _Good Morning Washington_ that the young Kenobi will be graduating from the University of Philadelphia in only three weeks,” the reporter turned to her co-host and grinned. “Should we expect to see more of Rey Kenobi in the spotlight?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Oh, yes!” The co-host nodded animatedly. His bow-tie was uneven. “A hundred percent — yes. The timing is just perfect.”
> 
>  
> 
> “You’re that confident?”
> 
>  
> 
> “You have to understand. This is a young daughter who grew up in the White House, surrounded by politics and sheltered for the majority of her teenage life. She traveled the country and campaigned in the name of our father when she could have been by the pool or partying with other freshman. We can forgive her for disappearing and mourning after her father’s assassination. She decided on an education and now that she is graduating — the timing is not a coincidence. This is a _brand new_ election cycle. It has been four years and it is not at all surprising to see a Kenobi back on Capitol Hill.”
> 
>  
> 
> The reporter grinned. “I know I’m excited. I hope our viewers —“

 

The screen darkened. Ben stared at his reflection. His father tossed the remote.

 

“Breakfast is ready,” he murmured.

 

On the table, Ben’s cell phone started to viciously vibrate. They both eyed it.

 

“I should get ready for work,” he downed his orange juice.

 

“Ben…” his father hesitated before continuing. “You can’t work for Snoke anymore.”

 

“I don’t work for Snoke. I work for my country.”

 

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

 

Ben ignored his father. He stood from the island and walked toward the staircase.

 

“You saw that video — all those reporters and people. She needs a bodyguard. She needs you.”

 

“I trust Poe Dameron will hire one.”

 

“You love her.”

 

Whether it was him or a gravitational pull to that fact — he froze.

 

His father stared.

 

The kitchen smelled of burnt bacon.

 

Ben refused to turn around.

 

“Sometimes to love someone, you have to be a stranger.”

 

“Yeah,” Han commented. “I used to tell myself that all the time about your mother. I wish I tried harder to bring her home.”

 

His shoulders visibly lowered. For a brief moment, he looked like he would surrender and join his father at the table for breakfast — maybe even call out of work. But his feet betrayed his wish and he walked up the stairs without speaking another word.

 

* * *

 

A morning sun peaked through sheathed curtains. It bathed her exhaustion in light. The timezone change was unforgiving and Rey had found herself lying in bed for a while.

 

Finn’s bedroom was reminiscent of childhood.

 

His carpet was still stained from spilt Four Lokos, his ceiling was plastered by vibrant posters, and the room reaped of ash-trays, classic vinyls and sneakers missing their pair.

 

Amidst the adolescence were inklings of adulthood.

 

They were subtle but… there.

 

Most notably were the pamphlets and newspaper clippings of available wedding venues scattered across his desk. Her best friend was getting married and she hadn’t even replied to his — drunken, yet enthusiastic — voicemail announcing the news.

 

Her eyes danced around the room as she ambled through, picking up photo frames, knickknacks, and small mementos. Each piece was a relic of her long-lost friend suddenly thrusted back into her life. Just as carefully, Rey returned them to their rightful place.

 

She flopped back onto the bed and sunk into the ache of broken mattress coils.

 

Coffy — fitted with a six pack and hooped earrings — stared down at her.

 

Rey exhaled slowly, watching the smoke waft into a beautiful tango.

 

> “My dad hired a new agent.” 
> 
>  
> 
> They passed the joint between clasped fingers.
> 
>  
> 
> “How long do you think this one will last?” Finn withheld his laughter.
> 
>  
> 
> “He has a good track record. I give him two weeks, tops.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Is he cute?”

 

From tangled bedsheets, Rey freed her phone. She slid her fingertips across the screen, ignoring the thousand of missed messages that started to spill in after morning news, and pulled up her voicemail box instead. Scattered and lost messages still sat in the memory.

 

She pressed play.

 

> “Rey, it’s your mother — again. I’m just calling to hear more about your —”

 

She pressed a button. **Delete.**

 

> “Reeeeey, baby girl, it’s Poe. Happy Fourth of July, girl! I hope you’re at some bar crawl in Philly right now. Give me a call. I want to make plans to take back our world. I also need your blessing on something. Okieeeeeee, byeee.”

 

Her face cracked a smile.

 

**Delete.**

 

> “Hi, sweetie, it’s Amilyn. I wanted to wish you a congratulations for getting into the overseas program. I’ll be in London for business next week and wanted to reach out. Maybe we could get lunch?”

 

**Delete.**

 

> “It’s your mother. Again. I saw the video. It’s all over the Internet. I know you’re the drinking age in London but that does not excuse your behavior. Who even are those people? You better answer your phone right now, young lady. Or I will turn off —”

 

**Delete.**

 

> “It’s me, again. I’m sorry about my last message — I,” her mother sighed into the phone deeply. “I realize you need to make mistakes. You need to form your own identity and you won’t do that if I’m holding your hand. I’ll always be your biggest advocate. I’m —”

 

**Delete.**

 

> “It’s Finn. I’m really fucking drunk right —“

 

**Delete.**

 

> “Seriously, why bother having a phone if you’re not going to use it?”

 

**Delete.**

 

> “Rey, it’s your mom. It was nice visiting for Christmas. Torra is a very sweet girl. I love you.”

 

**Delete.**

 

> “Can you please answer?”

 

**Delete.**

 

> “This is getting ridiculous —“

 

**Delete.**

 

> “Hey Kid —“

 

She froze.

 

> “It’s Han. I hope you don’t mind I stole your number from Ben.”

 

_Ben._

 

She curled into a fetal position and sunk beneath the bedsheets. She grasped the phone tightly to her cheek.

 

> “I heard you were attending school in Philadelphia and off traveling the world. I’m very proud of you for deciding on higher education. Although — _knowing your mother_ — you probably didn’t have much choice.”

 

Rey closed her eyes. She could tell Han had been smiling by the tone of his voice.

 

> “I did not get the chance to speak to you after the funeral. I wanted to — uh, apologize. If you ever need anything at all, never… _ever_ hesitate to reach out to me. I’ll do anything for you, kid.”

 

Her fingers trembled as they hovered her phone screen.

 

Quickly, Rey opened her contact list.

 

She scrolled down until she reached his name.

 

_Ben._

 

Nothing could explain why she had held onto his phone number for so long. Sometimes she considered having the courage to reach out to him — but had never even gotten drunk enough to cry her eyes out and make that call.

 

She pressed on his name and opened the message thread.

 

Her eyes danced over her keyboard but not as fast her fingers moved.

 

Before she could even formulate a cohesive sentence, she was already backspacing and deleting the message.

 

She chucked her phone across the room.

 

 _Are you out of your fucking mind?_ She cursed. _If he wanted to talk, he would have visited you at the hospital. He would have been at the funeral. He would have stopped you from leaving._

 

_He would have come with you to Philadelphia._

 

* * *

 

The security agents standing outside the door could have been doppelgängers with their crisp attire, wired ear-pieces and patriotic stances. However, Ben knew the authenticity slowly dispersed as the days drew closer to another election day.

 

Another electoral cycle was like a shift in tide with routine.

 

Agents would start to whisper about a possible new boss.

 

Ben sternly nodded at them before pressing his palms on the doubled doors. He pushed them open and entered the Oval Office. A thickness in the air pressed on his shoulders, making itself physically known.

 

Despair crawled where hope had once waltzed.

 

President Snoke was standing in the window between the thick of blue curtains, weather mahogany and draped American flags. The glass reflected his unamused expression. Across the room, his jacket was slung over a coat rack to expose his disheveled and wrinkled undershirt.

 

Ben questioned if he had even changed since getting off the plane.

 

Without turning, he spoke with confidence of his expected guest, “Agent Ren.”

 

Ben pulled the front of his suit straight, “Sir.”

 

“Remind me,” the president turned from the window. He folded his glasses and placed them in a chest pocket. “Why did we travel to London?”

 

Ben stammered. He glanced at the carpet.

 

His blink was longer than it should have. He prayed that when he found the courage to glance back up, he’d find President Kenobi and this would have all been a bad dream.

 

“This isn’t a trick question,” Snoke spat. He leaned over the desk.

 

“You were on a diplomatic mission to sign climate change accords with the prime minister. The accords have been long disputed. It was an act of courage to sign them,” Ben spoke as if he read the reply from a script.

 

“Correct. Climate change accords that should have rewarded me some of the green vote in November… or so my advisors claim.”

 

The doors opened behind them. Without a glance, Ben knew it was Agent Hux. The slick slue added a dampness to the already thick atmosphere. He joined their company in the office with a painted smug expression on his face.

 

“Despite my personal opinion on the…” he waved his hands through the air and snarled his nostrils. “— the cause. I still signed them.”

 

Ben met the gaze of his colleague. He refused to do the same. 

 

“It was a diplomatic decision that should have given me some airtime, some buzz… some positive polling before going into the presidential debates with Tano.” The president pulled a stack of newspapers from his drawer. He slammed each one onto the desktop for Agent Ren to see — _one by one_ — as he spoke. His words cut like a knife in Belfast. “If so then **WHY** is **Rey Kenobi** on the front cover of — **every** _—_ **single** — **paper** — **in** — **America** — **this** — **morning**?”

 

Balance wavered between uneasy feet.

 

Ben couldn't speak. Even if he wanted to. 

 

The president sat. He stared at the mess on his desk.

 

“My insider at the Post informed me that Miss Kenobi is having a birthday party tonight. Some club called _Back to the Future_. Do you know it?”

 

Yes. “No.”

 

He raised a suspicious eyebrow. “It’s an eighties club. I was told she frequented it when you were her bodyguard.”

 

Fuck. “Oh, _that_ one.”

 

The president inhaled sharply. He ordered, “Go to the party tonight. I want to know why she is home and so conveniently hanging around Tano’s campaign team.”

 

“Is this really necessary?” Ben questioned.

 

“A kid returning home is a headline over the president signing international agreements?” Snoke catechized. “It is necessary.”

 

“She’s just a kid.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“It’s a private event,” Ben countered. “She’ll recognize me immediately and wonder why I’m there.”

 

“She’ll be too drunk to care and last time I checked — she enjoyed your company.”

 

He didn’t even try to hide it anymore. Ben could feel the moment his eyes grew darker.

 

Snoke grinned. He knew he pressed a button. “You have compassion for her.”

 

“No.”

 

With a deceiving grin, he probed the way a camera or crowd would never know. “You do.”

 

Ben did not correct him. Instead, he shifted his eyes down to the newspaper covers on the desk.

 

She looked beautiful. 

 

“There is nothing I hate more than a rebellious Kenobi in the equation.”

 

“She lost her father. She has no influence anymore.”

 

It hurt to say it. But he said it anyway. He even forced his tone to mean it, too.

 

“And because of that, she’s dangerous.” Snoke stood from his desk and paced the oval office. “She has nothing left to lose this time around.”

 

“Ahsoka lost to you before. She’ll lose to you again —”

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong — but you are my security, yes?”

 

Ben couldn’t even formulate a reply before the President of the United States interrupted him again.

 

“Then secure.”

 

* * *

 

They were singing happy birthday.

 

Finn was obnoxious about it while Poe tried to hit every single note. Between each line, Finn would shake his hips and say: _cha-cha-cha._

 

Rey covered her face. She was stupid-smiling with big teeth and gums. In the midst of life-changing decisions, frantically emailing professors so she could graduate, and taking a red-eye back to America — she had completely forgotten that it was her twenty-second birthday.

 

It was April and the cherry blossoms were blooming and the weather was perfect.

 

Poe and Finn harmonized on the last note just as Rey leaned forward to blow out her candles.

 

She couldn’t stop grinning.

 

Finn’s hair was longer. Poe was taller and had more hair.

 

They were all grown up. They weren’t kids storming the capital anymore.

 

“Now you know why I tried to get you on the earliest flight,” Poe admitted.

 

“I thought you just wanted to torture me for never answering my phone.”

 

“That too,” Finn remarked.

 

Rey did not care if she was still in her pajamas with messy hair and tired eyes. She did not care if her body was begging for a droplet of caffeine or protein.

 

She ate the hell out of that cupcake.

 

“There’s more,” Poe grabbed a wrapped box from the counter. “This is from Ahsoka. She wanted to apologize for missing the party tonight. She’s in Iowa meeting with farmers.” 

 

With a mouth full of icing, Rey thanked him as she took the gift.

 

She sat on the edge of the sofa and started to peel back the wrapping paper.

 

“We also have our own present but you can’t have it until tonight.”

 

“Well, that’s not suspicious.”

 

Finn half-smiled. “I hope you still have your leg-warmers and fishnets.”

 

Rey froze. Slowly, she glared up at her friends. They were both sharing the same devilish grin.

 

“No way.”

 

“Yes way.”

 

“You didn’t.”

 

“I did,” Finn sung. “And I still have my Top Gun jumpsuit.”

 

“ _Back to the Future_ is seriously still around?” Rey asked.

 

“Maz let us rent the entire club out tonight for your birthday,” Poe commented. He smiled at Finn, “We invited some of your friends and we made a banging eighties playlist.”

 

“What’s a better way to celebrate than returning to the scene of the crime?” Finn grinned.

 

> “Oh, my God.”
> 
>  
> 
> He froze, taking her in.
> 
>  
> 
> Rey looked like she walked out of The Breakfast Club. Her hair was half-up in a pink scrunchie and she wore loose harem pants with a black leather jacket. The makeup she wore was colorful and not particularly appropriate for the galas and red carpet events she typically attended.
> 
>  
> 
> “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Do what?” He responded, astounded.
> 
>  
> 
> “Dress up for the club.”
> 
>  
> 
> He slowly processed what she said. His mind was still fixated on her appearance. Slowly, he gazed down at his own apparel and the tacky tracksuit he managed to scout out on the clearance rack.
> 
>  
> 
> “I take this job seriously.” He seethed. “I am undercover.”
> 
>  
> 
> Her eyebrows rose higher and higher as he tried to explain himself.
> 
>  
> 
> “I mean, is it too much?” He asked.
> 
>  
> 
> Before she could speak again, he was on a tangent about how long it look him to find the outfit.
> 
>  
> 
> “You look groovy,” she interrupted.
> 
>  
> 
> “Excuse me?”
> 
>  
> 
> She shrugged. “Groovy.”

 

Rey glanced down as her smile slowly crept back into hiding.

 

Finn and Poe spoke boisterously about the evening they planned. She wish they hadn’t gone through the trouble of it — yet deep down she was excited to just dance with her friends again. Even if the music was a power ballad overused in every film.

 

With each thump in her chest, they were silenced out.

 

She lifted the top of the box and opened the gift. It was lost in the wrapping paper. She freed the item and placed it in her palm. It was a tiny enamel pin of the American flag. The red, blue and white were outlined by a golden hue. Carefully, she turned it over and examined it.

 

“It’s your dads,” Finn spoke quietly.

 

She closed her palm around the pin and locked her fingers shut.

 

“They found it in the gallery before they tore the building down.”

 

“Ahsoka was waiting until you came home,” Poe added. “Until you were ready.”

 

Rey nodded. She closed her eyes.

 

They all stayed silent for a moment. For Rey, the room was loud with her thoughts. With furrowed eyebrows and forehead creases, she thought hard. Her best friend put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

 

The gesture centered her immediately — bringing her back down.

 

“This also came,” Poe nodded towards the counter.

 

Her stomach flipped. Slowly, she stood.

 

“We don’t know who sent it,” Finn shrugged. “Do you have any secret admirers?”

 

“Regardless,” Poe nudged his fiancé with his elbow. “It’s someone who knows your address.”

 

“True,” Finn thought for a moment before turning towards her. “Maybe your mom?”

 

> Across the partition, Rey accepted her drink that he extended out. She shook the contents, stirring up the matcha that was starting to settle on the bottom while she rotated the straw through the ice.
> 
>  
> 
> Her eyes glazed over the order label and the italicized name.
> 
>  
> 
> Rey felt her heart flutter in her ribs like a caged insect. She read the alias over and over and over again. A wave of nervousness coaxed her to ignore the invasion of privacy, but a small flicker in Rey wanted to dive right into that intuitive audacious flare of her’s.
> 
>  
> 
> “Thank you,” she sneered. “Ben.”

 

“The delivery guy said it was for you.”

 

Rey picked up the matcha lemonade. Slowly, she turned the cup and stared at the order label.

 

In italicized font — _Happy Birthday._

 

“It probably was my mom,” she forced a smile. “Only she knows my order — and where you live.”

 

> Her hair was frizzy at the ends and the glitter eyeshadow she wore was starting to smudge. The night of sweaty dancing and competitive arcade games had gotten to her. Nonetheless, she still looked like she walked out of a portal straight from the eighties.
> 
>  
> 
> “Home.”
> 
>  
> 
> Gently, Rey stirred awake.
> 
>  
> 
> With a fist, she rubbed her eyes open. A few batted eyelashes later and her vision started to clear up. She pulled in her surroundings—the brightly lit driveway and the visionary exterior of the building.
> 
>  
> 
> “Already?” She yawned.
> 
>  
> 
> “You knocked out. I dropped Finn off at his manor.”

 

“Aah, well that settles it.” Poe rounded the counter. He placed the leftover cupcakes back into the refrigerator. “Why don’t you go get unpacked and ready for tonight?”

 

“Yeah,” Finn added. “Party starts at eight.”

 

Without a word, Rey just nodded. Her feet moved for themselves down the hallway.

 

With one hand grasping the matcha lemonade and the other — Rey suddenly winced.

 

Slowly, she opened her hand. Through the anxiety and the realization she had been gripping the enamel pin so tightly — the American flag was imprinted into her palm.

 

She let out a quivering exhale.

 

She was 20 something. She had nothing. She was running from love. She wished he was here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is named "20 Something" after the SZA song. 
> 
> Feel free to listen to catch the vibe. ♡


	6. Tainted Love

**Chapter Six**

Tainted Love

 

* * *

 

Rey raised her shot glass. “To life.”

 

> _ Her father placed a thoughtful kiss on her scraped knee. She sniffled, wiping her runny nose with the back of her hand. He held out the bike helmet. “Try again.”  _

 

“Liberty.” 

 

> _ The spotlight blinded her for a moment. She cleared her throat. Shaking hands pried apart a folded piece of paper. She concentrated on the handwritten words for her unspoken speech. _

 

“And the pursuit of happiness.” 

 

> _ Beneath the bed sheets, she caught his eye. It smelled like lavender fabric and pinewood cologne. They shared toothless smiles.  _

 

Rey leaned back until her chin could practically touch the starry speckled ceiling. Her nostrils flared, smouldering from the scent of burnt vodka. 

 

“I thought you demanded no talking shop?” Finn slid an arm across his best friend’s waist to steady her stumbling, inebriated balance. “You can recite the  _ Declaration of Independence, _ even when you’re drunk?”

 

She sucked on a liquor-wet lime until it grew sour, stinging her chapped lips. “I’m  _ not _ drunk.” 

 

“Right,” Finn nodded foolishly before shooting Poe a cautious glance. 

 

She grinned foolishly, draping her arms over their shoulders. With a slump, Poe stumbled and sloshed his glass of beer onto the floor. Finn chuckled. 

 

The night was young. She was in America. Her best friends were next to her. It was as if she never left. Nobody could break it and no one could steal it from her. 

 

April rained over Washington D.C. and painted her green. She loved the stale dew of spilt liquor. She loved the anarchy of her lawless surroundings. She loved the other drunk kids as they stormed the capital. 

 

_ Back to the Future _ was teeming with euphoria. 

 

Neon tones drenched the dance floor in kaleidoscopic mirrors and disco ball flares. The room resonated in a concoction of arcade games and  _ Another One Bites the Dust _ by Queen. Glowing tetris blocks stacked the wall of the bar, illuminated the scene. The flickering lights casted upon the faces of strangers, lovers, and dancers.  

 

Rey closed her eyes and when she opened them again — she was in the eighties. She threw her hands into the air and embraced the balmy fog. Familiar faces grinned as she danced through the crowd, waltzing by and through. They were blurs of light in a psychedelic dream. 

 

She grabbed Finn by the sleeve of his Top Gun jumpsuit in an attempt to sturdy herself. 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“Don’t be sorry,” Finn gushed. “It’s your birthday.” 

 

“I really fucked up.” 

 

“Nah,” Finn took another sip of his  _ Goonies Never Say Die-tini _ . 

 

“I shouldn’t have ignored your messages,” she stammered into the beat and tried to hide her insecurities beneath an amateur dance move. “A lot of people were depending on me and I just disappeared. It was selfish.” 

 

“I’m starting to think we’re talking about different things.” 

 

“You’re engaged,” she slurred. “You’re engaged and I found out through social media.” 

 

Finn froze. He watched his best friend navigate an existential breakdown catalyzed by liquid courage, good music and being home again. Rey was encompassed by the world she had abandoned and it was starting to finally settle in. There were demons she had to face — living, breathing monsters. 

 

“I’m tapped out,” Poe flipped his empty cup. “I’ll be back.” He excused himself from the conversation, in the general direction of the bar, well before Finn could protest. 

 

“I ran away like a child. I didn’t even give an explanation. I didn’t even say goodbye.” 

 

“Rey.” 

 

“I just wanted a taste of normal life,” She raked her hair nervously, she fiddled with the zipper of his jumpsuit, she shot her eyes in different directions. “I wanted to be stressed out over exams, I wanted to worry about my credit score, I wanted to ride the subway and make mistakes. I ran away and because of that, I hurt a lot of people I cared —” 

 

Finn grabbed both of her cheeks. He cupped her face and forced his friend to look him straight in the eyes. The music seemingly paused, but people celebrated around them. Their motions stirred into a streak and Rey considered the possibility that she  _ was indeed, actually drunk.  _

 

“Rey Kenobi,” he spoke sternly. “Can you shut the fuck up for a second?” 

 

She stared at him in disbelief. 

 

“Did you abandon us? Yes. Was it shitty you ignored your friends, family, and the people that cared about you? Yes. Was it selfish?” He nodded. “A little, yes. It was.” 

 

She sucked on the inside of her cheek, “That’s a bit harsh.” 

 

“You abandoned our cause when it needed hope the most, but you’re here. **You** **are** **here.** You came back because you knew it was the time and that you were ready to look this _fucked up_ situation in the face and tell it you weren’t going to run any longer.” 

 

“Oh, god.” Her eyes started to well up. She blinked several times, careful not to smear her mascara. 

 

“Nothing that happened four years ago was your fault and you need to hear someone say it.”

 

> _ Months and months and months of traveling the United States to spiel the violence of it, yet Rey had never actually heard the sound of genuine gunshot before. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ She looked across the room and met his eyes, and it was like the earth between them had ripped apart. There was a chasm between them, and it only grew larger, and stronger by the second. It consumed them whole, and there was nothing left they could do to stop it from happening.   _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Her ears were ringing, a bizarre pounding that reverberated up her spine and through her skull. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ After just the first pop, there was hardly a second to process what had just happened before the scene erupted into pandemonium. More littered the art gallery, sending shells onto the flooring in crackled fireworks.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Someone — somewhere — was screaming her name. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Ben tackled her. Hard. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Before her head could smack against the marbled flooring, his hand caught it in embrace. He frantically squeezed her close, using his body and the podium to shield her body. He moved urgently — ripping her gown to shreds and using the strips to stop the bleeding. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Consciousness faded in and out. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Get off of me,” she winced, struggling with him. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ He dismissed her sternly. “Sit still.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Her vision doubled. And then it tripled. He was focused, but elsewhere — if that were even possible. His fingers fumbled with the garment. She was drenched in something warm and dewy, almost sticky. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Am I going to —?” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “No,” he yanked the tourniquet securely. She yelped. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Another pop. Rey hugged him closer this time. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Don’t look.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ She squeezed her eyes shut.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Don’t look.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ It all went dark.  _

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Rey. But what you do in response is completely within your control. It’s in here,” he poked her chest roughly, right where her heart was located. “Your father gave you something incredibly special and you need to use it.” 

 

“Don’t,” she whispered softly. “Do not give me hope.” 

 

“I didn’t have any hope to give,” Finn gently let go of her face. He spoke urgently but with meaning. He took a step away from her. “But then you came back home.” 

 

They stared in each other’s eyes. It was brief but felt a lifetime. 

 

“Fuck,” she exhaled. “Okay. Okay.” 

 

“It’s your birthday. Stop worrying about yesterday.” 

 

“Torra — _ all my friends in college _ — I never talked to them about that day.” 

 

Finn nodded. “That’s a lot of built up emotion, Rey.” 

 

She scoffed. “I have my mom to thank for that skill.” 

 

“You should call her.” 

 

“Does she know?” 

 

Finn glanced around their surroundings. The nightclub was far from sober. He chuckled. “If Ahsoka hasn’t told her yet, she definitely knows by now. You were trending on Twitter all day.” 

 

“I’m so dead,” Rey groaned. 

 

“Who’s dead?” Poe interrupted. 

 

The rock anthem slowly transitioned into a slower song.  

 

Finn adjusted the studded armband of Poe’s Freddie Mercury costume. In gratitude, he returned a kiss on the cheek. 

 

Across the dance floor, people started to pair up: couples, friends, and strangers. They tangled with one another, creating pockets of compassion and stillness as they accepted each other’s embraces. The prismatic reflections from the disco ball melted into grayscale. Everything slowed. 

 

Finn glanced at his friend, silently asking for permission. 

 

Rey stole Poe’s glass and lifted it up, “Cheers.” 

 

As they embraced one another, Rey escaped into the crowd. She snaked through, keeping her chin low and avoiding eye-contact as she passed. She stole an empty stool at the bar. 

 

“Aah,” Maz Kanata grinned. “You’ve come for a refill?”

 

“I’ll just take a water.” 

 

“It’s only midnight,” the tiny woman had not aged a second since she’d been gone. She leaned against the counter, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You drank more when you were underage.” 

 

Rey let out a laugh. “Me? Drinking underage? Never.” 

 

Maz pursed her lips. 

 

“Fine,” she surrendered. “I’ll trade you Poe’s beer for another shot.” 

 

“What’s your choice of poison, kiddo?” 

 

“Vodka. Smirnoff.” 

 

Maz nodded. She threw a rag over her shoulder before climbing a step stool and grabbing the bottle from one of the higher shelves. She tipped it over, generously filling the shot glass to the brim. 

 

Rey watched her closely, trying to ignore her amorous surroundings. Across the dancefloor, Poe and Finn were embracing beneath the disco ball. Their foreheads were pressed together, their eyes closed. 

 

“Maz, can I ask you a question?” 

 

She paused as she filled the glass, raising an eyebrow from the frame of her glasses. 

 

Rey formulated her thoughts. 

 

It was a bit harder while intoxicated. 

 

Before she could even speak, Maz had placed the bottle down and slid the shot glass across the wet counter. She folded her arms. “You’ll do fine, kid.” 

 

“How do you know?” 

 

Maz threw her hands into the air. “It’s in your blood.” 

 

“Not exactly.” 

 

“Don’t give me that,” she waved her hands animatedly. “You are the living, breathing caricature of everything this country needs right now. You are your father." 

 

“He’s gone.” 

 

“Dear child, I see it in your eyes. Whomever you’re waiting for — they’re never coming back.” 

 

Rey dropped her head, letting her eyelashes bat close for a moment. 

 

> _ She smiled up at her father, watching the helicopter push his hair from his face. He saluted the soldier with utmost pride. Rey straightened her shoulders, replicating the movement. He paused, taking a second to watch her. His eyes flickered with an uncertainty of change.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Where did you learn how to do that?” He had questioned.  _

 

“But — There’s someone who still could.” 

 

A burst of ecstasy erupted in the room just as  _ Tainted Love  _ played. 

 

Before Rey could pester Maz further, she was trotting down the bar and refilling more cups. 

 

The sinister voice sung through the synth-pop, single-handedly reviving the nightclub. It lit a fire to the romantic backburner, condemning partners to split and converge with the crowd once again. Somewhere between the bridge and chorus, Rey had swung another shot. It was that time of the night when the liquor drowned her thoughts and she was capable of forgetting her own name. 

 

> _ Now I know I've got to  _ _ — — run  _ _ away.  _
> 
> _ I've got to  _ _ — — g _ _ et away.  _

 

This is where life had become easier — painless — that was probably a better word. She could become a stranger to herself and therefore, she must’ve been one to others. 

 

“Not a dancer?” 

 

She glanced over her shoulder at the man. Her eyes dragged up the length of his body. He was well-dressed but the accessory on his wrist hinted a plausible income. His tidied beard gave way for a sly smirk. He stole the empty barstool beside her. 

 

“I’m all danced out.” 

 

“That’s a shame, I was going to ask you to join me.” 

 

Rey answered bluntly. “I’m not interested.” 

 

He leaned closer, using the volume of the music as an excuse to speak into her ear. Her shoulder blades touched together, spurred by the scratch of his beard on her lobe. “I promise not to step on your toes, princess.” 

 

She drew her head away to better meet his eyes. Rey’s lips parted, her voice caught in her throat. Slowly, she drew her eyes to his lips and —

 

“She said she wasn’t interested.” 

 

The entire world went to a standstill. 

 

Instinctively, she felt overthrown by the voice. It was hoarse, yet edgeless. Despite that, she felt herself dangling from a string. Her body was shoved off the cliff by an outwardly dominance. Her heart hammered in her throat. It rung in her ears, echoing somewhere far, far away from the music still playing. 

 

> _ Take my tears and that's not nearly all  _ _ —  _ _ oh, tainted love.  _

 

She felt sober; resisting the gravitational pull as it seduced her back to him. She yearned to confirm her suspicions but knew better than to question the natural reaction of her body. Liquor didn’t do that to her. Not in the way he had  _ — and apparently still did.  _

 

The stranger clenched his jaw. He forfeited the advance and disappeared into the crowd. 

 

Rey stared at her empty shot glass. Her bottom lip quivered, biting from the aftertaste of liquor. 

 

He sat down in the barstool and almost impulsively, their eyes met. 

 

Protruding rocks of their earth-shattering chasm had catastrophically struck once again. The earth had begun to stitch itself back together beneath their souls, desperate to repair what had been broken. It shook the entire nightclub —  _ Hell, _ it probably sent all of Washington into seismic unrest.

 

“Happy Birthday.” 

 

“Fuck you.” 

 

* * *

 

“Did you invite him?” 

 

Poe leaned against an arcade machine. He folded his arms. “Nope.” 

 

Finn nodded slowly. 

 

“Did you invite him?” 

 

“Nope,” Finn mimicked. 

 

This time, Poe nodded. 

 

Together, they gawked unapologetically from across the nightclub. 

 

“She’s been in America for less than twenty-four hours.” 

 

“Has she mentioned him at all?” 

 

“I just know they broke-up after the funeral.” 

 

“Were they even together?” 

 

“Whatever it was,” Finn explained. “It ended.” 

 

“Doesn’t he still work at the White House?” Poe suddenly asked. He glanced at his betrothed with a newfound worry. Their conversation met a dead end as the music picked up.  

 

> _ I cannot stand the way you tease; I love you though you hurt me so. _

 

* * *

 

His jaw went slack as his lips did  _ that _ thing. The silence grew uncomfortable between them. Time went forward but she felt stuck in place. She couldn’t find a reason, nor the will to leave that spot. 

 

“You aren’t even dressed up.” 

 

“I didn’t exactly have time to stop at a thrift store,” he responded. “You look groovy, though.” 

 

“Stop.” 

 

“Claire, right?” His question seemed genuine. “From The Breakfast Club?” 

 

“It’s concerning that you were even able to get in here,” she dismissed him. “There’s a list.” 

 

“I have security clearance and last time I checked, you’re on my turf.” 

 

Rey glared at him. 

 

Within the daze, his face came into focus. She studied his profile — the freckles that littered his face sporadically, the errant strands of hair displaced on his forehead, his heavy-lidded, tired eyes shrouding a shade of brown that met somewhere between cinnamon, chocolate, and coffee — all the good, delicious things that made your sweet tooth sting. Slowly, they drew across the scene as he detailed the drunken patrons and the unruliness before finally settling on the empty shot glasses tipped over in front of her. 

 

“Have you been drinking?” He asked. 

 

“No,” she lied. 

 

He nodded. “You’re a shit liar.” 

 

“You’re a shit liar,” she responded just as swiftly. 

 

Suddenly, he stood straight up. Rey physically felt the wind suction from her own lungs. She held her exhale, staring at him with defiance. He leaned close to her —  _ dangerously _ close. For a moment, she could feel his hesitation on her skin. It rolled off in a gentle breath. Somewhere between then and now, she had grown used to the ferocity of his gaze. Yet, tonight, there was something different about him. 

 

His lips pressed against her cheek. Whether it had been the blasting music, or her heartbeat thumping in her eardrum, his voice sounded muffled or far away. “Please stay safe.” 

 

Before emotions could get entangled, she ignored his comment. “I don’t need a bodyguard.” 

 

_ Don’t let your affection show. Push the fervor far, far away.  _

 

He looked hurt. She swallowed whatever was causing a lump to form in her throat and stared hard at Ben Solo. He didn’t look any older. Instead, he was the same wearied and dreary man she had left behind all those years ago. His hair was longer and his eyes were darker. Other than that, he was the same — just drenched in a neon purple and staring at her with an unspoken hunger. 

 

“I don’t want to be your bodyguard,” he responded sharply. 

 

“Then why are you here?” 

 

“I wanted to see you.” 

 

“If you wanted to see me, you would have been at the hospital. You would have come to the funeral. You would have driven to Philadelphia.” The words spilled out in an unruly famine. For four years she considered what she’d finally say to him when their paths crossed again. 

 

He looked hurt, yet he didn’t fight the offense. 

 

“Did he ask you to come here?” She asked. 

 

Ben hesitated. It was short but long enough for Rey to notice. 

 

“ _ What the fuck _ — are you undercover?” 

 

“No.” 

 

Quickly, she advanced on him. In a flicker of strobe lights, she had reached forward. Before he could stop it from happening, she had lifted his jacket and exposed the concealed handgun on his hip.

 

She stared up at him in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable. Stay away from me.” 

 

Within a beat, she was gone. 

 

Rey nudged through the crowd, tripping over her liquor and fumbling through the chaos of her birthday party. She pushed open a door, spilling out into the adjacent alleyway. 

 

It had started to rain. 

 

A slick of water glistened off the pavement, illuminating the neon hue of purple, pink and blue from the nightlife district. The radiant signs reflected from the puddles. Buried beneath the rumble of thunder was the boisterous laughter of drunken pedestrians, desperate to hail taxi cabs or find their way to the subway station. 

 

She walked earnestly in the direction of the street. 

 

Behind her, a door opened and the music from inside briefly filled the alleyway. 

 

> _ Touch me baby, tainted love. Touch me baby, tainted love. _

 

Ben advanced on her, his response blunt: “Do  _ not _ walk away from me.” 

 

Rey kept her stride. It took the last inkling of anger at him to endure.  

 

His steps quickened as he reached forward, grasping her wrist. Immediately, she spun around and the world seemingly reeled with her. She stumbled over her heels, into the liquor, but before she could meet the cement, his arm had slid around her waist. 

 

Just as quickly, he pulled away. Her body was on fire, reacting to him like a limewire. 

 

Ben exhaled. His dampened hair stuck to his forehead. “Please do not walk away again.” 

 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Rey shouted with an blundering anger. She pointed her finger at him. “You’re not my bodyguard and I’m not the president’s daughter anymore. You have  _ no _ authority over me —  _ whatsoever _ .” 

 

“I just wanted to check on you, okay?” 

 

“Don’t start that,” Rey cussed. “I am a grown woman now. I don’t need to be taken care of.” 

 

“I know you are,” Ben stated. “I’m staring right at you.” 

 

Her body — slick from rainwater and shaking from the brisk wind — suddenly transpired into warmth beneath his curious gaze. His eyes journeyed over her as he stepped forward, closing the vicinity between them. 

 

“You’re taller, your face is slimmer, your hair is longer — you hold yourself  _ differently _ .”

 

Water coursed down her face and the bridge of her nose. It dropped slowly onto her lips, reviving her with inventiveness. 

 

“You’re unbelievable,” she jeered. “You disappeared and suddenly walk right into my birthday party like nothing ever happened? Talking about how I’m taller? I trusted you, Ben. My entire family put their trust in —!” 

 

“Fuck you,” Ben spat. “I wasn’t the only one that disappeared.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Rey seethed just as passionately.  

 

“Fuck,” he took a step closer. “You.” 

 

She leaned on her tippy toes, getting in his face. “Fuck. You.”  

 

“ **Fuck. You.** ” He exhaled on her lips. 

 

They were in a match, desperate to overcome one another. Their noses practically touched, their eyes raging in unfit animosity. When one stepped left, the other went right. When one had gone low, the other grew high. They were sheer opposites of one another, forever bouncing off until someone surrendered. Relentless. 

 

“Fuck —” 

 

“— You!” 

 

“Forget this,” Ben relinquished. His hands flew into the air as he stormed off. “Goodnight Rey. You look beautiful.” 

 

She watched him, her mouth gaping open in outrageously. His body escaped into the shadows. 

 

“Get back here,” she shouted after him. 

 

“I don’t want to argue with you,” he called over his shoulder. 

 

“Wait, Ben. Wait.” 

 

Thwarted by her urgency, he came to a wavering stop. He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes. She had that kind of power over him. 

 

“Was it you?” Her voice was surprisingly soft-spoken this time around. Wordlessly, he knew what she had been asking.  _ The matcha lemonade. The car in London. The silent shadow that haunted her dreams.  _

 

“Yes.” 

 

She nodded, reaffirmed by his answer. “Why did he send you here?” 

 

“I think you scare him, Rey.” 

 

“Good,” she quipped. “He should be terrified.” 

 

Although she’d never see it, he smiled to himself. 

 

“I’m not going to stop. Now that my eyes are open,” Rey shook her head, desperate to collect spotty thoughts. “I’m never closing them again. Never.” 

 

“I don’t want you to stop,” Ben turned. He met her eyes. “For years, I wondered what I would say to you when I finally ran into you again. Maybe I knew you’d always come back. Eventually.” 

 

“Don’t get all sympathetic on me now,” Rey exhaled. She watched him approach again until he towered her body, eclipsing the street lamp. She lifted her chin, letting the rain soak her face. 

 

“And yet, here you are.” His eyes drew up her body until they met her own with intent. “Back in Washington and ready to set the whole world on fire again.” 

 

“Don’t.” 

 

He grabbed her hand. This time, she didn’t struggle to yank it away. 

 

“Don’t,” she said, much quieter this time. Within the palm of her hand, he slipped something through her grasp. She raised a questioning eyebrow at him, opening her palm as he drew his hand away. “What is this?” 

 

“A phone number,” he stated. “To a burner phone.” 

 

“What —?” 

 

“You call me,” he spoke with insistence. “If anything happens and you need help, you call me immediately. I don’t care what for, where you are, or what time it is. You call me.” 

 

She widened her eyes, trying to understand. 

 

“Do you hear me, Rey?” He tightened the space between them, if it were even possible. “Say you understand.” 

 

“Why do you have a burner —?” 

 

He interrupted. “I have so much to tell you — but another time. I have too many eyes on me right now.”

 

“Snoke,” she whispered, dragging her closed fist to her chest.  

 

“I think it’s deeper than that,” he admitted. “I’m trying to figure it out myself.”  

 

“I’m confused.” 

 

“You’re drunk.” 

 

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” 

 

Down the alleyway, an all-black exterior vehicle pulled up. Ben popped the collars of his jacket, taking several steps away from her. His shoulders seemed tense, yet his eyes remained focused, even softened, on her. “Do you remember the first thing I promised you? When we met?” 

 

She stared at him in bewilderment, her lips parted.

 

> _ “Are you trying to get me to like you?” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “I have no desire to win your affection. My only worry is your safety.” _

 

He nodded at her palm. “Call me.” 

 

And before she could argue any further, he was storming down the alleyway and getting into the passenger’s seat of the idling vehicle, leaving nothing but the piece of paper and the warmth of his touch lingering on her body. 

 

* * *

 

Globs of rain raced down the windshield while the wipers worked viciously. As they drove, the storm started to pick up. Ben stared out the window, watching the city pass by. His face illuminated red from the intersection’s light. 

 

In his pocket, his fingers fumbled with something obsessively. It pressed against his skin, rolling between his thumb and palm. 

 

> _ “Mr. President,” Ben interrupted his conversation. He glanced between the nicely dressed senator and his boss. “Excuse me, sir. May we talk?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Obi-Wan turned away from his guest. He maintained his composure despite the urgency in his security guard’s voice. Quickly, he traded his champagne glass between hands and patted the senator’s shoulder. “Take a seat. My daughter will be presenting soon.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “I look forward to it. Thank you, sir.” The man bowed his head before disappearing into the thick of the crowd.   _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The president stepped close to Ben, keeping his voice low. “Is everything okay?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Yes, everything is fine. I apologize for being frantic.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Obi-Wan looked relieved instantaneously. He sighed, exhaling out his nervousness before adjusting the enamel pin on the front of his suit. “Where is Rey?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “With Finn, sir, I —”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Is she upset I invited Snoke?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Ben nodded sternly. “Oh, absolutely.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Good,” Obi-Wan grinned. “She hates nothing more than ascendancy. It will fire her up.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Sir, I —” Ben spoke quickly. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The president stared into the face of the crowd. He smiled to himself, watching the politicians, legislators and representatives all mingle. “I never imagined for a second that she would follow in my footsteps. If she gave this all up tomorrow, I’d still love her.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “I think she’s in this for the long run, sir.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Rey is good at governing dissent. She still has a lot to learn.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “She will learn from you.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Obi-Wan nodded. “Have you spoken to her, yet? About our conversation?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Ben stopped.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “You haven’t.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “No,” Ben admitted. “I tried to.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “She spent her life sheltered. We can forgive her for wanting to keep secrets.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “If she knew,” Ben lowered his voice as guests passed by. They shared smiles with the president before carrying on. “If she knew — that you were okay with it.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Obi-Wan shook his head. “Rey will be ready when she’s ready. And when that time comes, her defiance will shake the entire country.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “We are talking about different things.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Rey’s father grinned foolishly. He sipped his champagne, “I’m not as ignorant as you want to believe, Ben. I know she cares about you dearly. There aren’t a lot of things Rey is capable of controlling for her own — even her feelings. Whether it is college, becoming a politician, or admitting that she is in love with you — she will tell me when she’s ready.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “I wouldn’t say —”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Leia called this years ago,” Obi-Wan shook his head. “If only she knew.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Ben’s eyes gleamed. He stared at the only person who was willing to give him a second chance after his mother’s passing.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Anyway,” the president sighed, releasing himself from his darting thoughts. “Was there something you needed to ask me?”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Ben tightened his grip in his pocket. He stayed quiet.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The president narrowed his eyes, searching his face for any trace or indication of understanding. He just nodded, patting Ben on the shoulders. “The answer is yes.”  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “I didn’t even ask you anything.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ The President of the United States shrugged. He backed away slowly into the crowd. “The answer is still yes.”  _

 

Agent Hux pulled onto Pennsylvania Avenue. He glanced over. “You’re quiet.” 

 

Ben snapped out of it. “What?” 

 

His colleague rolled his eyes. “Did you get anything for us?” 

 

“She was too drunk to talk politics.” 

 

“An embarrassment,” he sneered. “Just like when she was a child in the White House.” 

 

Ben said nothing. He shivered from the bitter chill of his soaked clothing. 

 

“She’ll be easy for the president to handle,” Agent Hux commented. “Just like her father.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/12151921873/playlist/5AL3UHpfs6l23pzS8yEMod?si=5h6Fr6NTSQGPMtxPjnchmg) on Spotify for Olive & an Arrow / Dove & an Eagle. Give it a listen and catch the vibe! ♡


	7. Bones

**Chapter Seven**

Bones

 

* * *

 

_ They called it Boneyard.  _

 

_ The infantry base was located in Al Jahra - just a short ride outside of Kuwait City. Most of the recruits were heathens — men who yearned to feel the pain of the frontline. They were all ruthless, too. They had nothing to lose and that made them valuable.  _

 

_ During these months, the sun was unforgiving and Ben Solo found himself shirtless with just his camouflage pants and tan utility boots on. They were already dirtied from drill earlier in the day. Across his cheekbones, speckled mud splattered his face like freckles. His hair had been much shorter against his own decision. The other soldiers called him Ears.  _

 

_ Fortunate Son played on a multi disc CD player. The rock music fuzzed from the antenna’s fading connection. Every once in a while, it picked up a radio frequency.  _

 

_ The soldiers were lifting weights or tossing a flattened soccer ball around. Ben exhaled his cigarette smoke, watching them with interest. His dog-tag dangled over his collarbones, sticking to the glaze of his exposed, sweaty chest.  _

 

_ They could hear it first.  _

 

_ The helicopter — a VH-60N, Ben had noted — hovered over their heads. Each chin lifted from curiosity. The ranking officers abandoned their tents and approached as the vehicle eclipsed the sun, slowly circulating in the air as it lowered to the ground. Ben raised a hand to his eyes, protecting them from the gusted sand propelled toward them.   _

 

_ A general walked further than the rest. He yanked on the metalic doors, pulling them open. Ben watched from afar as the men hopped from the compartment. They weren’t dressed for the terrain, let alone the heatwave. Instead of combative uniforms, they wore expensive and tailored suits. They even seemed to be recently pressed at a laundromat service. Ben concluded that the men were dressed like they profited from war, but never actually fought in them.  _

 

_ All the soldiers aligned and saluted. Ben followed suit, pressing his fingers to his temple. He dropped his cigarette, letting the smoke waft in the sand.  _

 

_ The nicely-dressed men approached. One spoke loudly over the propellers. _

 

_ “At ease, soldiers.”  _

 

_ Ben relaxed his stance, but kept his shoulders composed. One of the men walked the length of the entire line. He eyed each individual soldier as he passed — taking his time to detail their facial features and identifiable characteristics.  _

 

_ When the man reached Ben, he paused. He turned on his heel and took a step closer. Ben remained still, his eyes focused in the distance. He could see the translucent shimmer of the heat in the desert. He fixated on it.  _

 

_ “You have a name, soldier?”  _

 

_ “Benjamin Solo, sir.”  _

 

_ Another man approached. He nodded at the colleague, “This is the one.”  _

 

_ Ben snapped from his focus. He met the man’s eye. It narrowed.  _

 

_ “You’re a tough man to track down.”  _

 

_ The general chuckled. He spoke in a smooth southern accent, “It’s not named the Boneyard for no reason.”  _

 

_ One of the men took a few dedicated steps forward. He eyed Benjamin from the specks of mud, to the layer of sweat on his forehead. He nodded. “Pack your bags, Solo. You’re going home.”   _

 

_ Immediately, the other soldiers dropped their discipline. They side-eyed one another in silence. Ben could feel their wandering eyes, and worst — he could practically hear their sneer remarks.  _

 

_ Ben felt offended. “I still have three months left on this tour.”  _

 

_ “Not anymore. You’ve been granted clemency.” _

 

_ “Clemency?” Ben asked.  _

 

_ The man nodded. “Your presence is requested in Washington. You will be coming with us.”  _

 

_ That wasn’t possible, Ben considered. There must have been a mistake.  _

 

_ The men were already swiveling on their heels and returning to the helicopter. The engines were still running, creating dust bowls in the dunes. Ben dropped his posture and stepped from the line. He followed them, raising his voice over the propeller’s excellarations.  _

 

_ “I’m being sent to Frankfurt in the morning,” Ben contended.  _

 

_ “There’s no shame in going home.”  _

 

_ He took hurried steps to follow them, nearly tripping on the laces of his boots. “I deny the clemency. I request to stay in active-duty. I want to fight the terrorists.”  _

 

_ “There are other ways to fight terrorists — ways that do not include shooting a gun. I would not argue with this order.”   _

 

_ “Whose order?” Ben asked.  _

 

_ The man tossed his head over his shoulder. “The president’s.”  _

 

_ Ben paused. His jaw went slack.  _

 

_ He watched the men climb into the helicopter. His eyes slowly shifting down the tail and up to the sky. He stared at the sun, letting it blotch his eyesight. His eyes watered from the brightness.  _

 

* * *

 

“Time to wake up.” 

 

The sheath hardly shielded her from the morning sun to begin with, and yet, Rey still found it excessive for Finn to rip the curtains open. The warmth bathed her, sending her into a brisk beam of consciousness. She snapped wide awake, compelling herself into a hearth of misery. 

 

Rey fussed with the sheets, burying herself a hole into the mattress. She muffled into the pillows. “You have got to be kidding.” 

 

“Busy, busy day.” 

 

“It’s a Saturday.” 

 

Finn stood over his bed. He crossed his arms. “Democracy does not rest.” 

 

Rey gagged. Finn smirked. 

 

“You like that? Poe is writing that into your speech.” 

 

Rey lifted the pillow slightly. She narrowed her eyes at him — or, rather, her pupils dilated from the brightened sunlight. “My head is splitting.” 

 

“Raid the medicine cabinet, then. We have work to do.” 

 

Rey grabbed the hem of the comforter. She pulled it over her head in response. 

 

Finn continued. “Are we going to talk about last night?” 

 

Her voice was muffled beneath the sheets. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

 

Rey grew silent. 

 

“Do we need to hire a bodyguard? Will he become a distraction?” 

 

That made her laugh. Finn even cracked a smile. 

 

“Do not make me drag you from this bed, Rey Kenobi. I will kick you out of this house.” 

 

“One more hour,” she pleaded. 

 

Finn chuckled. He walked across the bedroom and opened a wardrobe. He turned, chucking the towel across the room and onto the bed. “Drag your grievance along and give it a shower. You reek of vodka.” 

 

He walked out, leaving Rey and her grouse to their lingering hangover. 

 

* * *

 

_ The first thing she could hear was the heart monitor machine. It beeped consistently — in a perfect rhythm. Badum. Badum. Badum-badum. Her eyes batted open. With each and every blink, the room started to come into focus.  _

 

_ Next, it was the pain. It was concentrated near her abdomen — no, her leg. Maybe both?  _

 

_ Finally, it was the realization that something happened but she couldn’t understand what it had been.  _

 

_ Get Well Soon balloons touched the ceiling, teddy bears were piled on every surface, cards were perched up and on display, flowers were starting to wilt over their vases.  _

 

_ Her mother was standing by the door. She was whispering with the doctor earnestly. She looked restless — her hair was thrown into a messy bun and she wasn’t wearing any concealer. That was a rarity for the First Lady.  _

 

_ “Where is Ben?”  _

 

_ The doctor glanced from her clipboard in bewilderment. Satine shook; rattled.  _

 

_ “Where is Ben?” Rey demanded.  _

 

_ Their confused faces only furthered her exasperation. She shouted again.   _

 

_ “Agent Solo?” Her mother questioned. “Rey, there has been —” _

 

_ “No, Ben — Where is Ben?” Her voice cracked.  _

 

_ “Sweetie,” Satine approached with caution. “You’re at the hospital. You’re on morphine. ”  _

 

_ “I don’t — I don’t care!” She shouted. Her mother took a step back, looking deeply offended. She grasped at the wall and grew teary-eyed. Rey raised her voice again. “Where? Where is he?”  _

 

_ The doctor placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. She gave it a reassuring squeeze. “She was given a heavy dosage. She could be experiencing some side effects.”  _

 

_ Rey tried to get off the bed. A nurse pushed her back. It only made her try harder.  _

 

_ Satine clasped a hand over her mouth, struggling to breathe. She sobbed, watching her daughter fight with the nurses. They called for help, their throats croaking over the sound of Rey’s wail.  _

 

_ A second doctor entered the room. He pulled the safety cap off a needle. “Hold her down.”  _

 

_ Rey screamed. It echoed the hallway and shook the ground. Her world was spinning, and spinning. She couldn’t remember anything. There was a before and then a now. There was nothing in-between. It was a vast, opaque void. She ran through it as a helpless silhouette; screaming. If no one is in the forest when the tree falls, does it make a sound? She couldn’t remember what birds sounded like. She couldn’t recall where she last rested her head. She didn’t understand why her lips tasted like iron.   _

 

_ There was a cloud of misunderstanding. Her entire body was aching. It was put in the blender and someone chuckled as they pressed the highest level over, and over, and over again.  _

 

_ She watched the man approach and she squealed.  _

 

_ Where was Ben? Why wasn’t he stopping them from hurting her? They’re hurting her.  _

 

_ “Where is Ben? Is he okay? Why aren’t you answering me?”  _

 

_ The needle penetrated somewhere. Rey hadn’t even felt it. All she saw was the world blurring out of focus and the shadow of her mother as she slowly approached. Gradually, her pleas came to a quiet stop and her wrist went limp over the side of the bed.  _

 

* * *

 

His favorite trail to run was Embassy Row. He’d leave his apartment in Dupont Circle and head north, he’d loop the Naval Observatory and then find his way back to where he started. He’d lap, and lap, and lap until his calves were aching and his feet were swelling. 

 

Ben wasn’t entirely sure when he decided he liked to run. He loathed it in high school, even at boot camp. Maybe when he agreed to become President Kenobi’s personal bodyguard, he determined that he needed a safe outlet for his anger and uneasiness — both completely natural temperaments he could express on the job. 

 

He had always been a bit high-and-low. One day was high, the next was low. 

 

That started in high school and never really left; unlike all the fake friends. 

 

The route was the home to 175 foreign embassies. They were residencies for diplomats on missions — guests of the capital. He liked to believe the charming houses were similar to where his mother resided in Germany all those years ago. He’d like to pretend that she was in one of them — so overwhelmed with work, she had forgotten to come home for dinner. 

 

_ Focus on something else, _ Ben warned himself. He turned a corner and ran up the block. His music was playing, but all he could hear were his racing thoughts. 

 

He cursed his mother for his strong-head. Her defiance was definitely hereditary. He was having a hard time convincing himself of the truth — the one the media reported, the one bureau agreed on, the one everyone around him believed. 

 

It was the truth he wished he could accept. It just didn’t sit right. 

 

Phasma, an unknown assailant from West Sussex, worked alone. She was upset with the political climate and the executive’s policies. Using laundered money from a joint account — the other name  _ still _ unknown — she purchased an illegal firearm from Dopheld Mitaka, posed as a butler for a catering company, smuggled the weapon through security, and assassinated the President of the United States in front of the world, his guests, and his daughter. 

 

Ben was sprinting now. He exhaled more than he inhaled. His arms pumped vigorously. 

 

Phasma had originally attempted the attack at Fiola, the italian restaurant  _ the Duchess _ and  _ the Scavenger _ had frequented, but the terrorist was forced to recuperate her plan when the President had not been in attendance for dinner. 

 

> _ “Italian?” Rey’s complaint echoed in his head. “Again?”  _

 

Her next chance had been the star-studded gala for the president’s re-election. 

 

And the rest had been history written into textbooks for school students, given to directors for documentaries on the History Channel, and to the dumpster fire of the Internet. 

 

Ben’s feet quickened, if that were ever possible. Sweat dripped down his nose. His lips tasted like salt. He licked them obsessively. 

 

It was a good story. But there pieces missing. There was a plot-hole and Ben had become haunted by it. There was not a beginning, or a middle, or an end. The Federal Bureau may have known that Kenobi was aware of the attack — but they did not indulge the idea of  _ The Empire _ . 

 

It was a minuscule detail. One he only trusted to tell Ben. 

 

Because of — why? His mother?

 

> _ “The president told me in confidence. He asked me to focus my attention wholly on his daughter.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Is there a document of this request?” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “No,” Ben admitted. “We had spoken about it in his office aboard Air Force One. The information was meant to only be shared with me.” _

 

There was no proof of the conversation. So therefore, it must not have happened. 

 

Ben came to stop at the top of the hill. He put his hands on his hips, his entire diaphragm heaving for oxygen. The sound of fabric whipping in the breeze caught his attention. He raised his chin and stared at the flag. 

 

It was a beautiful day. Spring was finally in Washington. Spring meant revival, resurrection, return. 

 

The German flag — the black, the red, the yellow. It danced in the breeze. 

 

_ Why can’t you just believe the story? _ Ben questioned himself.  _ Accept the closure.  _

 

_ You know exactly why, _ the voice replied. 

 

Paranoia pranged in his gut. That fleeting uneasiness settled to the pit of his stomach like ashe from a fallen phoenix. The same, known feeling from the battlefield, to Belfast, and the gallery. 

 

He had noticed the vehicle following him for about twenty blocks. 

 

It pulled up to the red light in a hurried stop. Ben turned, facing the driver’s darkened window. He stared into the depth of it, knowing they could see him. 

 

Slowly, the window rolled down. 

 

“It’s my day off.” 

 

Hux pushed the unlock mechanism. “Not anymore. Get in.” 

 

* * *

 

_ They stood together on the stonewall edge. Their hands were clasped tightly, each finger threaded into the other. It was the longest they had ever held hands.  _

 

_ “Are you nervous?” Rey asked.  _

 

_ “No.” _

 

_ “You’re lying,” she smiled devilishly. “You’re shaking.”  _

 

_ “I have jumped out of airplanes before. This does not scare me.”  _

 

_ “It’s okay to be scared sometimes.”  _

 

_ Ben looked down to better meet her eyes. She was looking at him, rather than the ground. He inhaled sharply, catching a whiff of her shampoo. Instinctively, his eyes closed and melted into the scent. He tried to ignore the countdown from the safety instructor. He focused on her.  _

 

_ “Don’t be afraid. I feel it too.”  _

 

_ He opened his eyes again. “It was your idea to go bungee jumping.”  _

 

_ “Sometimes you have to face fear head on.”  _

 

_ “Your father is going to kill me for this,” Ben commented. “Putting your life in danger.”  _

 

_ “At least it was my decision this time.”  _

 

_ Before Ben could answer, the countdown had come to an end. Rey was already leaning over the edge and letting gravity do the rest. Their hands grasped one another tightly.  _

 

_ He stepped off the edge and his breathing stopped. They clutched to one another. _

 

_ They were weightless. They were children of the cosmos. They tested death.  _

 

_ It was ten seconds of bliss. Ten seconds of terrifying, excruciating fear with the only person that had ever given him butterflies. Ben had concluded that it was definitely ten seconds of bliss — before the bungee cord had reached its end and sent them back to reality.  _

 

* * *

 

“Here are copies of the itinerary, the schedule, the damage control plans, the traffic routes, and the list of guests we will be meeting.” 

 

Rey watched the interns frantically run around the conference room. They had rented out some space at the Marriott in Downtown Washington. If she pressed her head to the glass window, she’d be able to see the White House. 

 

One of the interns seemed to be the leader; pointing and telling orders while she tidied the paperwork and ensured everyone had refreshments, tissues, and working pens. Rey played with her straw, sloshing her ice around in her lemon water. 

 

_ Maybe she was the Amilyn of this campaign _ , she considered. 

 

Her head was pounding. Every eye shifted to her as Rey raised her hand. 

 

The intern paused. She parted her mouth, “Uh, yes?” 

 

Rey’s eyebrows furrowed. “There’s an itinerary —  _ and a schedule? _ ” 

 

Poe dropped his head in his hands. Finn pursed his lips. 

 

The intern — a tall woman with dark, curly hair and full lips — crossed her arms over recently bought blouse. If she was dismayed, or flustered, she did not show it. Instead, her hip cocked as she smiled. 

 

“The itinerary is an organized list of what we should do on the trip. The schedule is a detailed and time-based agenda that we will have to strictly follow.” 

 

Everyone fell in silence. Rey awkwardly pushed her sunglasses over her head. It pushed the devianting strands from her face. She squinted from the brightness. “Thank you for the clarification. It’s been a while.” 

 

The intern nodded. “Let me know if you have anymore questions.” 

 

“Gladly,” Rey fell back into her chair. It swiveled in a circle. 

 

Immediately after, the doors of the conference room swung open. Every single person at the table stood — every single person, except Rey. 

 

Rey fell into a starstruck awe. 

 

Ahsoka Tano walked into the room with a dignified stride. She exemplified power, but grace. Diplomacy trailed her as she passed by, a smile growing feverishly across her face. She nodded at everyone before taking the empty chair at the head of the table. 

 

It had been years since their paths crossed, yet she seemed to not age a single day. Ahsoka wore a tight pant-suit. Her bracelets matched the color of her hijab and the tint on her lips. Rey’s heart was fluttering all over the place. The woman that had inspired her for years, that had spoke highly of her in a college recommendation letter, that had advocated for her return to politics — was standing only a few feet away. 

 

They were never close-close; yet Rey felt the urge to hug her. 

 

“Thank you for joining my campaign for the presidency,” Ahsoka grinned. “Let’s begin.” 

 

Rey glanced across the table at Poe. He reassured her with a nod. Beneath the table, their feet slightly touched. She exhaled discernibly. 

 

* * *

 

It felt like school. 

 

If Rey had closed her eyes and counted to ten before opening them again, she’d be sitting in a classroom a few hundred miles away in Philadelphia. Maybe she’d still be hungover, too. 

 

She doodled nervously in the margins of the paperwork. The intern definitely side-eyed a few times. Her presence felt unnecessary. 

 

Ahsoka was the manifestation of the American Dream. Anyone would be lucky to vote for her. She was born to two refugees in the Bronx and she grew up during the Nixon years. While other kids enjoyed ABBA, she was watching and learning about the political climate. 

 

After Nixon resigned, she understood that being a politician wasn’t about earning the truth — but telling the best lie. She wanted to do the opposite. 

 

She had a long resume of firsts. She was the first child in her family to graduate from college, the first woman of color to earn valedictorian, the first girl in her hometown to a win marathon. It eventually grew to an empire of woman-led scholarships, autobiography best sellers, and eventually a ticket on the Kenobi 2020 Campaign as a first for the vice president’s position. 

 

Now she wanted to take another step up the ladder as she eyed the presidency. 

 

And in all honesty, Ahsoka was on a streak. She really did not need a Kenobi, let alone Rey — a washed-up, restless, hungover twenty-two year old with glitter still stuck in their hair. 

 

“Well, I’m hungry. That will be all for today,” she interrupted Rey’s thoughts. “We fly to Logan International tomorrow morning. Please pack accordingly.” 

 

“Wait —  _ Boston? _ ” 

 

Every face turned on Rey. Was she really not listening the entire time?

 

Ahsoka met her eyes. Rey’s cheeks flushed. 

 

_ Think of anything,  _ Rey screamed in her head.  _ Absolutely fucking anything.  _

 

“We should visit the Boston Marathon Memorial.” 

 

Ahsoka tilted her head. 

 

“You’re a runner. You’ve run marathons before. You could really speak to the survivors, while taking a stance against terrorism.” 

 

The intern raised an eyebrow. She jotted quickly on her notepad. Poe smiled to himself. 

 

“That’s a great idea,” Ahsoka nodded. “Fit it into the schedule.” 

 

* * *

 

_ “You should get cleaned up before your mother sees you.”  _

 

_ Rey stopped shoveling. She popped up from behind the bushes and grinned. A few of her teeth were missing; another token she’d trade for fun money with the tooth fairy. They had a sweet deal, and sometimes, the bodyguard would take her to the zoo after frozen yogurt.  _

 

_ “May I join you?” Her father asked.  _

 

_ Rey shrugged.  _

 

_ Her father squatted into the mulch. The south lawn was full of vivacious gardens. They grew trees, flowers, and concealed glorious treasures. The First Lady had a bit of a green thumb. When the weather was forgiving, Rey would scavenge from sunrise to sunset. She would trade what she found with the bodyguard and he’d drive her wherever she pleased.  _

 

_ Her overalls were ripped at the knees and covered in grass stains while mud speckled her face and dirtied her hair. Her father sighed, brushing his fingers through the tangled knots.  _

 

_ “What are we scavenging for today?” He asked.  _

 

_ “Dinosaur fossils,” her missing tooth caused the s-noise to tread. It sounded more like; dinothaur fothilth.  _

 

_ “Oh, yeah? Have you found anything?”  _

 

_ “Just this,” Rey held out a closed fist. She dropped the discovery into her father’s palm. “What is it?”  _

 

_ Her father opened his palm. He fumbled with the fragile, ivory piece between his fingers.  _

 

_ “It looks like a bone.”  _

 

_ “A dinosaur bone?” Rey grew hopeful.  _

 

_ “No.”  _

 

_ She groaned.  _

 

_ “It is too small and your hole isn’t deep enough.”  _

 

_ She pursed her lips and dragged heavy-lids toward the hole she had spent the entire afternoon creating. It was worth a shot, she contemplated.  _

 

_ “It looks like a small aviary. You know, birds can be considered dinosaurs. I think this would get you a ride to the space museum.”  _

 

_ She shrugged. “Astronaut ice-cream it is, then.”  _

 

_ “Come inside and take a bath,” her father stood. He held out his hand for her to take. “You are driving the landscaping guys nuts.” _

 

_ “Far out,” Rey commented. She stole his hand and squeezed it, abandoning the plastic tools and construction truck toys in the dirt.  _

 

_ “Where did you learn that?”  _

 

_ She shrugged. “The babysitter likes the Brady Bunch.”  _

 

* * *

 

He pulled the trigger. The bird bursted into a spurge of red before falling to the ground, and its grave. Ben shuddered from the noise. Security detail walked the perimeter and spoke quietly amongst themselves. 

 

The president exhausted an exhale into Ben’s direction. 

 

His nostrils flared at the burning scent of the cigar smoke.

 

“As I had advised you, it was a closed event for just her friends.” 

 

Ben felt vulnerable. He was standing in a meadow in the middle of Virginia with only his jogging clothes on. He wasn’t even carrying his weapon. All he had was the tingling tendency in his gut. Agent Hux made his presence known. He would pace by, his utility belt and the methodized weapons that decorated it shimmering beneath the sun. 

 

Out here, no one would hear Ben scream. 

 

“Were any photos or videos taken?”

 

“The guests had to check their phones at the front door.” 

 

The president rolled his eyes. “Wise of Ahsoka to plan accordingly for damage control.” 

 

Ben did not comment. 

 

“Did she talk about the campaign? Who was their largest private donor? Their agenda? Where are they visiting first?” The president piled question after question. 

 

“Kenobi could hardly form a sentence, sir. Let alone a campaign strategy.” 

 

“A disgrace, really.” The president walked through the knee-high grass. The swamp squelched beneath his boots. “It’s disrespectful to democracy to let children interfere with these decisions.” 

 

Ben swallowed the lump in his throat. “I agree.” 

 

Agent Hux approached on the side. He opened the compartment and reloaded the rifle as the president enjoyed his cigar. He was wearing jeans and a buttoned plaid shirt. It was supposed to be everyone’s day off, yet —  _ here they were.  _

 

“A mourning dove,” President Snoke commented. “Is the only bird I have not collected.” 

 

He approached Ben slowly. Their eyes watched one another. 

 

“You’re a talented hunter,” Ben dead-panned. “Maybe one day you’ll get lucky.” 

 

“Do not fail me, Agent Ren. I trust that you will handle the girl.” 

 

Agent Hux handed the loaded rifle to the president. He took it and lifted it to his face. While balancing the cigar between his lips and with one eye narrowed, he pulled the trigger and shot at the bird. 

 

In the exhaust of smoke, the bird escaped. It flew frantically over the trees before disappearing into the canopy. 

 

“Try again,” Ben commented. 

 

* * *

 

_ “Democracy is at risk. How can I sit idly by, knowing people are hurt? The information I have can save millions of lives.”  _

 

_ “You’re going to miss your son’s birthday, his graduation from middle school, his goddamn swim meet.”  _

 

_ Ben peaked through the cracked bedroom door. He tried to lay in bed and ignore their hushed argument, but it grew too difficult. His parents weren’t even trying to hide their resentment anymore.  _

 

_ “I want Ben to grow up in a safer world,” his mother pleaded. She was holding a suitcase.  _

 

_ “Your son needs you, Leia.”  _

 

_ “Obi-Wan believes we can root them out of Germany, we can —”  _

 

_ Han raised his voice. “—Oh,  _ **_fuck_ ** _ Obi-Wan Kenobi.”  _

 

_ Leia shuddered.  _

 

_ “Stay here,” her husband pleaded. “If not for me, then for him.”  _

 

_ “I’m sorry,” Leia grabbed her scarf from the coat rack. “You do not get to make decisions anymore. This is very important.”  _

 

_ “Mom?”  _

 

_ She froze. Her hand was clutching the doorknob.  _

 

_ Ben stepped out of his bedroom door. “Where are you going?”  _

 

_ Han immediately approached. He charged down the hallway and scooped Ben into his arms. “Your mother has a business trip. C’mon, let’s go back to bed. You have school tomorrow.”  _

 

_ “What’s Kenobi?” Ben ignored his father. He stared over his shoulders and at the silhouette of his mother.  _

 

_ She stood by the door in silence.  _

 

_ “Mom?” Ben asked again.  _

 

_ Leia opened the door. He kicked in his father’s arms. He only squeezed his son tighter.  _

 

_ “One day, you will forgive me.”  _

 

* * *

 

“Well,” Poe stabbed his curry coconut tofu with a chopstick. “That went well.” 

 

“Who’s the intern?” Rey blurted out. 

 

“Jannah,” Finn replied. “Yale University, top of her class.” 

 

Rey nodded. She stared at her full plate. “I feel like I know her.”

 

“You’re both political science majors and you’re both going to be up Ahsoka’s ass the entire summer,” Poe shrugged. “You’ll be best friends.” 

 

“Or mortal enemies,” Finn spoke with a full mouth. 

 

Rey rolled her eyes. She sipped from her fifth glass of water for the day. 

 

“I loved your idea about the memorial,” Poe added. 

 

“Thanks,” Rey just accepted the compliment. It was better than sharing her secrets about how it was a stumble over misplaced words and cognitive dissociation. 

 

“Ahsoka liked it, too. This is why we recruited you.” 

 

Rey nodded. 

 

They were sitting in the window of a hole-in-the-wall asian fusion place. To them, it was one of Washington’s best kept secrets — and there were a lot of secrets in Washington. In the corner of the restaurant, a shitty television played the evening report. It was all about the presidency, the campaign, and Rey. Her cheeks flushed. 

 

“I hate that photo,” she nodded at the screen. It was a high school graduation picture. 

 

“We should do a promotional shoot,” Poe commented. “Maybe a magazine, or a newspaper? It could be with all of Ahsoka’s interns — a breath of fresh air from the typical politician.” 

 

Rey did not comment. Instead, she played with her food. 

 

That song had been sung far too many times. 

 

Through the storefront, the other neon signs for laundromats and karaoke places and underground bars were blinking off the street. A yellow twenty-four hour sign illuminated Rey’s face. The flesh beneath her eyes felt sunken. 

 

She was exhausted already. Maybe it was the jet-lag. 

 

First, a single van pulled up. 

 

Then another.

 

And another. 

 

Rey dropped her fork. “Someone called the reporters.” 

 

“Perfect,” Poe slurped his remaining broth. “We should go talk to them.”

 

“I’m not ready,” Rey stood. Her chair squeaked across the floor and fell back.

 

Poe looked shocked. “What?” 

 

“I’m not ready.” 

 

Finn sat silently. He watched his best friend frantically shake and run fingers through knotted hair. Since high school, when they first met, he could recognize that same expression on her face. Uncertainty. Risk. Anxiety. He nodded toward the counter. “Back door, Rey.” 

 

“No,” Poe interrupted. Finn placed a hand on his shoulder. It was enough to keep his  fiancé from stopping Rey. He fell back into his chair, defeated. “Why would you do that?” 

 

Finn shrugged. He took a piece of Rey’s untouched food. “She said she wasn’t ready.” 

 

* * *

 

Her feet stumbled over the pavement. The alleyway was hardly lit. It was a maze, coiling and wrapping around Chinatown. She moved quickly, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. She could hear the commotion on the other side of the street. It grew louder, as if they were trailing her.

 

The alleyway spilled out onto a busy marketplace. Eyes glanced in her direction. People pointed. Others whispered to their companions. She pushed through the crowd and it only made a bigger scene. Voices were starting to rise and she was catching more and more attention. 

 

Beneath the street musician and the bustling noise, an engine revved. The market was far too small for a car, but a motorcycle easily snaked through the crowd and the vendors. It braked in front of her, smoking the concrete. 

 

The helmet was matte black with metallic detailing. With gloved hands, the driver lifted it over his head and allowed his hair to fall into a heap on his shoulders. 

 

His eyes were dark. They met Rey’s with intent. 

 

“Do you trust me?” Ben held out the helmet. 

 

Rey broke their gaze to glance down at it. In her peripheral vision, she could see the reporters pushing through the pedestrians with their cameras and microphones. 

 

“Rey,” his voice was low in his throat. 

 

Wordlessly, she took the helmet and pushed it over her head. The world went dark from the visor. He reached up and helped her with the chinstrap. His fingers worked diligently. He made sure it was tight, but not too tight. 

 

For a moment, his fingers grazed her chin. She met his eyes but he’d never know beneath the opaque visor. He seemed to turn away just as quickly. 

 

“Hurry,” Ben ordered. “Hold on tight.” 

 

Rey lifted her leg over the motorcycle and scooted closer to him. The inside of her thighs hugged his hips firmly. Something — somewhere — throbbed. It compelled her arms to wrap tightly around his waist. She squeezed. 

 

He revved the engine and pulled off from the curb. The feeling of his touch left a lasting tingle on her skin, even beneath the wind as they road down Pennsylvania Avenue. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am going to Germany today. It was not my intention but I will take credit for it, anyway. Considering that I am traveling, the next update will not be for another two weeks, at least. I deeply apologize but appreciate every one of you. 
> 
> Curious to hear your thoughts on this chapter as we finally move forward. 
> 
> Your comments will give me sanity during the layover.


	8. Let the Past Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fourth of July.

**Chapter Eight**

Let the Past Die

* * *

 

This must be what flying feels like. 

 

They soared through Washington D.C., weaving around idled traffic, over bridges and under tunnels. They left only a gust of wind, a plume of exhaust, and a sense of sovereignty that settled onto the pavement with the disturbed stones and leaves. The city bled into streaks of light, bathed beneath the full moon. 

 

Rey reached to the night sky and felt the wind blow over her fingertips. She wanted to release her other grip, but couldn’t forge the courage to do so. Her arm was still snug around Ben’s waist, and judging by the death grip he had on her sleeve, he wouldn’t have dared to even let her try. 

 

He smelled like burnt wood and second chances. 

 

The reporters, the gawking stares, and the anxiety were long behind them. Ben was focusing on the road ahead. He skirted around a tight corner and Rey squealed, grabbing at his waist again. His foot dragged along the pavement to turn quickly and the motorcycle bounced as they descended down a cement staircase into the park. She slid further down the seat and against him, her insides swelling with something familiar. 

 

Each one of her senses welcomed the strange reminder of him. She was overwhelmed by nothing _but_ _him_. Rey did not feel scared. The tangible electricity that encompassed them spoke to her soul. It whispered secrets, it restarted her heart after every beat dared to slow down. How could you mourn something in your arms? She inhaled sharply and still, it smelled like him — like burnt wood and second chances. 

 

_ They were once madly in love, _ they’d say.  _ But nothing genuine lasts within these castle walls.  _

 

The Reflecting Pool was shimmering beneath the high moon, the water bludgeoned in darkness. Rey pushed her cheek against his shoulder and stared until her eyes glossed over. They reflected off the surface of the water, rippled into a messy portrait that refused to paint within the lines. The hue of streetlamps silhouetted their movement. 

 

At the base of the Lincoln Memorial, the bike began to slow. Ben pushed both his heels into the gravel and came to an easy, even stop. Carefully, Rey hoisted herself off the back of the bike using his shoulders for support. He remained tense, trying not to crumble beneath her lost touch. 

 

Rey glanced around the desolate park. There was no one around. 

 

“Why are we here?” She asked. 

 

Ben kicked the stand out and allowed the motorcycle to lean and rest securely against it. He was towering over her again, fumbling with the chinstrap of the borrowed helmet. “I was hoping we could talk.” 

 

“We spoke at the party.” 

 

“Hardly,” he argued. “And we weren’t alone, and you weren’t sober.” 

 

Rey did not argue with that. She raised her chin, allowing him to unclick the strap. His eyes were dark, his hair windblown. Rey swallowed sharply, feeling his touch drag across her chin.  His fingers tucked beneath the matte helmet and thoughtfully, he pulled it over her head. In the helmet’s absence, her hair fell freely around her shoulders. 

 

Ben took a quick second to stare before peeling his eyes away. He turned away and opened a compartment beneath the seat to store the helmet. Leaning over the bike, the back of his jacket rose and Rey caught a glimpse of his brawny, lower back. 

 

“Nice toy,” Rey commented. She crossed her arms and tore her eyes away. 

 

“Government issued,” he replied over his shoulder. 

 

_ Of course, _ Rey rolled her eyes. She faced the Lincoln Memorial. 

 

It was a monstrous structure; a fortress that overlooked the Reflecting Pool and the distant Washington Monument. The exterior echoed a classic Greek temple, comprised entirely of yule marble. It was surrounded by doric columns, inscribed and ornamented with wreath medallions, garlands of ribbon, and the wings of an eagle. 

 

“How did you know I was there? At the restaurant?” Her question penetrated the silence between them and Rey nodded, confirming her own suspicions when he stayed dubiously quiet. “The burner phone has a tracker, doesn’t it?” 

 

“I’m glad you’re actually carrying it on you. I thought you’d smash it up.” 

 

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a burner phone?” 

 

“It’s to keep you safe.” 

 

“That worked so well the first time,” she joked. His face flashed in vivid memories of the college campus, the helicopter manhunt, and her slurring voice singing along to Whitney Houston. Then it settled with the shallow reminder that they got waffles together afterwards. He pushed past her and began to ascend the marbled staircase of the memorial. “Ben, it is not your job to protect me. You are not my bodyguard anymore.” 

 

“Maybe I did it… just cause.” He tossed the words into the air.  _ Your move, Rey. _

 

“Just cause?” Rey followed him. 

 

“I want to be there for you.” 

 

“That’s hard to believe.” 

 

“You disappeared.” 

 

Rey grew angry. She felt insulted. “ _ I _ disappeared?”

 

He kept marching along and Rey struggled to keep up. His legs easily consumed two full steps while she trudged along each one. His hands were tightened into stubborn fists at his side, his back tense and firm. 

 

“You weren’t at the hospital. You didn’t even come to the funeral.” 

 

“I came to the hospital. You were still asleep.” 

 

Rey came to an abrupt stop, but Ben kept walking. “What?”

 

Her voice housed genuine confusion. The four walls Rey spent the last few years building came crumbling down around her. Ben came to a slow stop and turned. He was standing a few steps above, his body eclipsing the moon in the sky. He sighed, pushing a palm through his messy, fanned hair. 

 

“Why weren’t you there when I woke up?” Her tone betrayed her, exposing how hurt she really was. 

 

“You were high on morphine. You didn’t even know what had happened yet. The world was struggling to understand, to cope with his loss while still preparing for a vicious, unprecedented election. But I’m not a close family member and the doctor advised that my presence could be… overwhelming. You were already on the edge.” 

 

“Out of everyone in the world… you were the one person I needed by my side.” 

 

“I tried, Rey, I did.” 

 

“Well, you should have tried harder.”

 

His face softened. He tore himself away and stormed up the staircase. Rey urgently followed him, her anger fueling her energy. “You sound just like everyone else.  _ Try harder, Ben. _ Maybe if you tried harder, your mother wouldn’t have chosen diplomacy over raising a son. Maybe if you tried harder, you would have gotten into college. Maybe if you tried harder, you would have found the people that killed her. Maybe if you try harder, Rey will come back to you.” 

Her nostrils blazed, her teeth were seething. She had never felt so angry before. The raw emotion was intoxicating, clouding her mind and spewing words she didn’t mean.  “I never asked for this. You knew I was a mess, you knew I was difficult to work with. It was never your job to fuck me.” 

 

Ben turned around suddenly. Rey smacked right against his chest. She stumbled back, staring up at him. His eyes were blazing, a deep brown she had never seen before. His chest was heaving in anger. He took another step towards her, using his height to knock her confidence down a few pillars. 

 

He spoke through gritted teeth. “You wanted it, just as much as I did.” 

 

Rey looked away. “You helped me feel less lonely.” 

 

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Ben raised his voice. “You can’t fake whatever  _ that _ was.” 

 

Rey’s jaw tightened. She spoke sternly. “It was your job to make us feel safe. You were supposed to protect my family. You, Ben. No one else — YOU. You were head of security and the President of the United States died because —” 

 

“It’s time to let old things die.” Ben’s voice was distractedly calm. It took Rey by surprise. 

 

“Ben,” she said softly. She stared at him teary-eyed. 

 

“Do you want to know the truth about your father? Or have you always known?” 

 

She inhaled sharply. The sky seemed to fall around them in blazed embers. 

 

He took diligent steps toward her, his voice soothing into a realization. “You’ve just hidden it away. You know the truth. Say it.” Their eyes met and a single tear melted down Rey’s cheek. He dismissed it, repeating: “Say it.” 

 

Rey’s voice cracked, betraying herself. “He knew was going to die,” she looked away and allowed the tears to fall now. 

 

“Your father knew about the attack,” Ben continued for her. He was cold, too cold. “He asked not to tell you. He wanted me to focus on your safety instead. He knew he was going to die.” 

 

Rey’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. “You’re lying.”

 

“Why would I lie? It’s in the case file. Go to the bureau and check for yourself.”

 

The world spun. She stumbled back, tripping another step down. The corners of her eyes were prickled with stinging tears. They continued to fall down her cheeks and stain the hem of her shirt. 

 

“Why do you think the investigation was called off? Why do you think the elections were pushed anyway? There is no conspiracy, this isn’t a movie. The same terrorists that killed my mom, killed your dad. And Snoke stole that tragedy, exploited it for fear, and ran an entire presidential campaign on it, and guess what? He won.” 

 

“He won’t this time,” she shook her head, searching his eyes for a glint of deception or sympathy. There was neither. 

 

“You’re the daughter of wealthy politicians. Without them, you wouldn’t be nearly as successful, important, or useful to Tano’s campaign. You can fool the entire country with steamed-pressed suits, pearl necklaces, and glittery eye-shadow, but I know the truth about you, Rey. You’re just a scared, lonely kid. You have no place in this story. You will never —” He corrected himself, mulling over the thought. “You will never be your father.”

 

She said nothing, her watery eyes glimmering beneath the moon. They had a stare off for a moment before Ben finally tore himself away, surrendering. He stomped up the remainder of the staircase and entered the colossal entryway of the fortress. 

 

Rey hesitated, but followed. 

 

She could feel her stomach cramping. She struggled to swallow the lump sitting in the bottom of her throat, keeping her from arguing with him, or fully weeping in front of him. He didn’t say anything she didn’t already believe. 

 

“I should have never left London,” she admitted, defeatedly. 

 

Ben stood in front of the statue. His arms were crossed with his chin raised. “Probably.”

 

Rey inhaled deeply. It sounded snotty and gross. “Why weren’t you at the funeral?” 

 

He turned his head, watching her walk up beside him. Spotlights illuminated the columns but they stood in unsettling darkness where the moon could not touch. Still, Rey felt the judgemental gaze of Lincoln’s stoned stare. 

 

“I didn’t want to face the truth,” he confessed. “Or you.” 

 

Rey scoffed. “Yet, I’m the scared kid?” 

 

“I was trying to find out who did it. I hadn’t accepted the bureau’s report.” 

 

“You do now?” Rey asked. 

 

Ben lied. “Yes.” 

 

She nodded sternly and said nothing. 

 

_ In this temple, as in the hearts of the people for whom he saved the Union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined forever.  _ Rey dragged her eyes across the inscribed words and as she read them, they inked themselves into her mind. 

 

“Have you been to your father’s memorial?” 

 

She shook her head, refusing to say the answer aloud. 

 

“It’s nice inside. Quiet.”

 

“You can find the time to visit my father’s memorial, but you can’t reach out to me?” Rey felt the anger brew inside again. Her fists clenched and her jaw tightened. Intensively, her patience wavered. 

 

“I didn’t know where to start.”

 

“Bullshit,” Rey spat. She turned on him now. Each word stumbled after the other, her anger rising in her throat. “You knew I was in Philadelphia, you knew I was studying in London, you know where my home in Vermont is. You had my phone number, you had my email, you fucking track me on burner phones. If you caught my scent in the wind, you’d be able to hunt me down in three days. You had  _ every _ opportunity to see me and you chose not to.” 

 

The muscles beneath his left eye twitched. He turned to face her and they square off. “You were in mourning. What the fuck was I going to do to make it better? I failed.” 

 

“Anything,” Rey searched for an answer but came up short. “Absolutely anything. Just your presence would have made it better.” 

 

“I thought you were faking,” he catechized. “I thought I was just to cure your loneliness.” 

 

“You know that wasn’t true,” she countered. 

 

“So more lies,” he responded without missing a beat. “You’re good at lying, Rey. Maybe you are a politician.” 

 

Rey snapped. She placed her hands on his chest and shoved him back. He looked stunned, his face echoing some internal conflict as he struggled with how to react to the sudden clash. He stumbled forward, pushing her back with an equal amount of force. 

 

Rey only pushed him harder. Quickly, Ben grabbed her wrists. He looked smug, almost smirking as she struggled to escape his grip. 

 

Rey tried to raise a knee against his gut but Ben frantically closed the space that separated them. They wrestled with one another, their bodies sticky and pressed together in the hot summer night. 

 

“I hate you,” Rey cursed, tussling with his devoted grasp. 

 

Ben pushed her against a marbled column, her wrists pinned above her head. She gasped in shock and met his opened mouth. Their lips crashed together. It was zealous and over before it could begin. 

 

He panted. “I hate you, too.” 

 

“I hate you more,” Rey countered just as fervently. This time, she kissed him. His hands released her wrists and for reasons beyond belief, she kept them there. It was sloppy and ardent as they chased the lost time spent apart. Rey slid her tongue across his bottom lip. 

 

He pulled away and searched her eyes. Her lips were already swollen and bruised by the harsh kissed. They trembled. There was nothing else to say. 

 

They met at the same time, crashing into one another. Beneath them, the earth could have snapped and chasmed and they still would have been embracing. His hands slid down her back and over her butt, spurring her hips to buck against him. He caressed the back of her knee and lifted the leg, wrapping it securely around his waist. 

 

They kissed as if their lives depended on it. Rey wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed, forcing him to release a moan into her throat. She hummed against his lips and he pinned her harder against the column, forcing her to melt beneath his weight. 

 

Everything — the lies, the hatred, the cold comments — it all thawed away. Rey grappled with him. Her body was touch-starved and he knew it. He capitalized off of it, and when she felt something hard pressed against her inner thigh, her body completely unhinged. She shuddered, begging for more and more and —

 

Ben pulled away, leaving her in a flustered, pulsing wreck. She lifted her chin to reunite but he stepped away, breaking the embrace. Rey was heaving, struggling to center herself. With the water reflecting the stars, she couldn’t tell which way was up and which was down.

 

“That was not fake,” Ben deadpanned. He turned away and stalked down the stairs, his fists still clenched from unresolved frustration. 

 

“Where are you going?” She called out, breathless. “You can’t just leave me here.” 

 

He climbed onto his bike. “You said it yourself, Rey. I’m not your bodyguard anymore.” 

 

He revved the engine and took off. Rey slumped against the column in a heap of lingering electricity. The throbbing subsided as she steadied her breathing, watching Ben disappear into the moonlit park. She glanced over her shoulder and stared up at the memorial of another dead president. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (✿◠‿◠) Sorry I've been missing. Germany was a lot of fun. 
> 
> This update was a bit short but I felt that this needed to be its own chapter, especially since the next one will be a bit of a time jump. Expect updates to speed up as we meet closure.


	9. Playing with Fire

**Chapter Nine**

Playing with Fire

* * *

 

 

 

_ Rey’s heart felt like trapped butterflies, fluttering in her ribcage. She was jittering beneath the desk, her knees clobbering together and her nails picking at cuticles. Somebody was rubbing her back and only after he spoke, did she realize it had been Finn. “Relax, peanut.”  _

 

_ She finally exhaled, the color in her cheeks returning.  _

 

_ “He’ll be here soon.” _

 

_ “He’s late,” Rey groaned. “I knew he’d forget again.” _

 

_ At the front of the classroom, somebody shushed them. Finn and Rey bowed their heads and lowered their voices at the same time.  _

 

_ “He’s a very busy person,” Finn whispered. “He’s probably just stuck in traffic.” _

 

_ “He has a motorcade and police escort,” Rey argued. “There is absolutely no excuse to be late.”  _

 

_ Again, somebody shushed them. Rey narrowed her eyes at the student and their face flared. They quickly diverted their attention back to the presentation at the front of the classroom. Career Day was written across the board in chalk. A firefighter in full uniform was presenting beside his son, another kid in the class.  _

 

_ “Peanut…” Finn cautioned in a low voice.  _

 

_ “I’m fine,” Rey dismissed him and shrugged his hand off her shoulder. She glared at the bodyguard in the corner of the room, who was mindlessly listening to the chatter on his earpiece. He was the fourth one… this month alone.  _

 

_ At the front of the class, their teacher smoothed down the front of her dress. She flashed a joyous smile to the filled classroom. At every single desk, a parent was sitting beside a student. Despite the price of the private school and the flashy occupation of each visitor, every eye still side-eyed to Rey.  _

 

_ “Rey,” the teacher’s lips fastened to a straight line. “You’re next, sweetie.”  _

 

_ Finn gave her another pat on the back before she slowly rose from her desk. Every gaze was sympathetic but averted as she passed by. She sucked on her teeth, her braces cutting at the inside of her cheek.  _

 

_ It was the first week of high school. Rey was used to her father missing soccer games, or dance recitals. However, after begging and begging and begging, and even compromising to eat whatever leafy-green dinner the chef would conjure up, her dad finally agreed to clear his schedule and come.  _

 

_ Except, he wasn’t there and every single person in the room knew who he was anyway.  _

 

_ “My name is Rey Kenobi,” she mumbled with a shaky voice.   _

 

_ The teacher gestured from the back of the class, “Speak louder, sweetie. That way everyone can hear you.”  _

 

_ Rey nodded. She hated public speaking; which was hilarious because her father was named one of the best orators in history. Her eyes met Finn and he gave a thumb’s up. They met just four days ago in the cafeteria. A group of juniors had tripped Rey, sending her spaghetti across Rey’s blouse. They had called her an elitist blue dog.  “Whatever that means,” Finn offered the other half of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead. “It isn’t true. I think you’re pretty.”  _

 

_ Rey smiled back at her new friend and cleared her throat, “My name is Rey Kenobi. I’m fifteen and when I grow up, I want to —”  _

 

_ The door opened and every single head snapped. Every head, except for Rey’s.  _

 

_ First, a police officer entered the room, his fingers tucked into the band of his utility belt, second, a few bodyguards Rey recognized, third, the assistant that was always pushed Rey to wear more things from Banana Republic instead of HotTopic, and finally, the President of the United States. Everyone gasped and sat up in their seats, their posture strickening and their attention on the presentation suddenly growing.  _

 

_ He flashed smiles at the parents and shook the teacher’s hand before coming beside Rey, placing a kiss on her cheek. He mumbled in her ear, “I’m sorry. The President of New Zealand is quite chatty.”  _

 

_ “It’s okay,” Rey released a sigh of relief. She could leave this presentation to the professional. He really bailed her out of this one. Before she could step away to the seat, her father placed a hand on her shoulder and held her still.  _

 

_ The teacher grinned. She looked like she was about to cry. “You may start over, Rey.”  _

 

_ Rey groaned beneath her breath. Her father tightened his grip on her shoulder.  _

 

_ “My name is Rey Kenobi,” she started. “I’m fifteen,” she inhaled unsteadily. Her father squeezed her shoulder and she centered herself before continuing. Her voice sounded stronger, more deliberate, as if he transferred his courage through his touch. “When I grow up, I want to be just like my dad. He is known by the world as the President of the United States, but to me, he is my hero.”  _

 

_ The entire class was grinning and nodding when moments ago, they had seemed bored. Rey was used to the flakiness. However, Finn seemed as interested as he was originally — flashing her an encouraging smile.  _

 

_ He kissed the top of her head, “Thank you, little dove.” Her father straightened the front of his suit. He stood confidently, shifting around the classroom and condemning the attention of every person in the room. Somewhere, a flash went off from someone’s camera phone and they awkwardly apologized. Instead, he made a corny joke and everyone laughed, the teacher especially zealous and loud.  _

 

_ Rey rolled her eyes. She folded her arms over her chest.  _

 

_ “My job is not always fun. There are perks. But it also is not always easy. When my daughter begged me to be her presenter, I was terrified. What could I possibly speak about? I would love to bore you all about the logistics of budgeting, foreign affairs, and my plan to conquer the trade deficit… but instead, I’ll talk about my favorite position in life.”  _

 

_ Their eyes met across the room and he smiled thoughtfully at his own daughter. Rey’s anger subsided and she almost smiled back.  _

 

_ “There are lots of accomplishments in my life, but becoming a father is one I am most proud of.”  _

 

* * *

 

“I think the Nationals will beat the Braves,” Agent Tico haphazardly and quite generously drizzled mayonnaise on her frenchfries. 

 

“I disagree,” Ben took a hearty bite of his cheeseburger. He eyed her white-dressing artwork while speaking through a full mouth. “How is your sister?”

 

Just as they always had, the two colleagues were enjoying lunch. Instead of the usual pizza, they agreed to a burger shack a few blocks from The White House. The front windows were open, welcoming the early summer weather. A few guys sat along the bar, drinking and watching the baseball game on the flatscreen. 

 

Agent Tico rolled her eyes. “If I see one more Facebook update about what country they are backpacking through…” 

 

“Would be a fun life,” Ben replied. “Retire and just travel the world.” 

 

“You already travel the world.” 

 

“I’m too busy to enjoy any of it,” he contested. 

 

“That’s not true. I saw those photos of you bungee jumping and flying a F-15 fighter jet.” 

 

Ben felt his cheeks flare. “Well, that stuff doesn’t happen anymore.”

 

They both fell silent for a moment, busying themselves with food. The perilous comment walked a thin line between the details of their job, and personal politics. All three bases were loaded and the drunken people at the bar cheered.  

 

“We both know exactly what we signed up for.” 

 

“Rose…” Ben begun. 

 

She interrupted, continuing.  “You knew what you signed up for when you decided to become someone’s personal bodyguard.” Rose stuffed some fries into her mouth, careful not to get sauce on her uniform. “You get attached to your clients and then you’re in it for life.” 

 

Ben answered bluntly. “I’m not attached to him.” 

 

“I wasn’t talking about Snoke,” she hastily responded. 

 

They stared at each other for a moment. Ben awkwardly swallowed and she dipped her fries into the mayonnaise again, drawing her eyes away from him. His chest swelled as he angrily sipped his soda. He checked his watch. He busied his hands. 

 

It had been a week since the Lincoln Memorial and it was all that plagued his mind. Part of him expected (or rather, wished) Rey would use the burner phone by now, the other part of him knew she was far too stubborn to surrender. 

 

When the celebratory mayhem settled, Rose met his eyes again. “It’s the president’s daughter, right? You’re sweet on her.” 

 

He said nothing.

 

“I meant, Kenobi.  _ That _ president.” 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

Rose forfeited. He was clearly uncomfortable. Instead, she just gave him an innocuous smile and continued to eat her fries. 

 

Ben tore his eyes away from his colleague and focused on the television screen. The pitcher drew his arm back and flung the ball, but before it could meet the bat of the home team, the channel went black as a breaking news banner drifted through the screen. Every single person along the bar booed. The bartender shifted between the different sports channels but they had all cut to the news. 

 

_ “Breaking News on Capitol Hill,”  _ the reporter grinned deviously to the camera. Ben hung his head and took another bite of his burger. Rose kept her eyes fixated on the screen.  _ “In a series of tweets this morning, President Snoke lashed out about his precedent Obi-wan Kenobi and his daughter, Rey Kenobi.”  _

 

At the sound of her name, he glanced back up. There were clips playing of her frolicking around downtown Boston on rental scooters with Finn and Poe. Someone captured them on their cell phone, the video shaky but clear enough to confirm it was her. He had already seen the footage, though. Last night, when he could hardly sleep, Ben finally Google’d her name. 

 

Rose awkwardly glanced at Ben but thought better to say anything. 

 

_“The president said,”_ the screen changed from the video clips to a screenshot of the president’s Twitter account. “ _Kenobi had shown too much restraint while representing the greatest country in the world. He is yesterday’s message —_ _a primitive, distracted regime. His failures presaged a different, more ambitious dream for the American people. His daughter, Rey, is just as unqualified and weak. Tano’s trust in a child should be enough to bar her entire campaign.”_

 

The report continued but Ben could feel his senses flatlining. His fists were balled beneath the table, grasping at absolutely nothing but harvested anger. He could hear the distant laughter from the bar and their commentary for interrupting the game. The harsh words lingered in his head. He knew the campaign would get dirty, but he hadn’t expected President Snoke to poke at Rey this much.  _ I’ve never caught a mourning dove before.  _

 

“That bitch should worry about graduating college,” someone commented. 

 

Ben’s head snapped in the direction of the bar. His jaw clenched. 

 

“Wasn’t she always getting in trouble for underage drinking and smoking pot?” Another one of the men asked, he chuckled as he finished his beer in a single gulp. “She clearly doesn’t understand the law.” 

 

Before Rose could stop him, Ben was up from his seat and crossing the restaurant. They were all laughing, too flushed and too amused with themselves to notice his approach. 

 

“She’s a Washington whore, just like the re-” Before the man could sputter the words, he choked on them. Ben had him by his collar and up against the edge of the bar. Everything knocked from the counter, filling the air with clattered utensils and broken glass. 

 

Rose was hot behind him. She moved her jacket aside, showing her gun to the other drunk friends. They halted before standing from their own chairs to help their friend, second guessing their courage to join the altercation.  

 

“What the fuck?” One of them asked. 

 

Ben’s eyes were as dark as midnight, his pupils swallowing any color. He tightened his grip on the man’s collar, his knuckles turning white. “What the fuck did you say?” 

 

The man’s face turned blue, pleading for oxygen. He tried to speak but couldn’t. 

 

“Don’t,” Rose eyed the bartender that picked up a phone and began to dial. She flashed her badge. “Secret service. This is under control.”

 

“Under control?” Another friend commented in disbelief.  

 

Ben only tightened his grip. The man’s eyes rolled back, his head lolling on his neck as if it had began to feel too inflated or too heavy to hold. Ben shook him harshly, allowed him to inhale just enough to answer his question. “What the fuck did you say?” 

 

“I’m sorry,” he stuttered through trembling lips. If he wasn’t feeling sober before, he was now. 

 

Rose placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. He diffused almost instantly. Ben lifted him up just to push him back against the edge of the bar. The stool knocked over. He exhaled a shaky breath and released the man. He was convulsing with anger. For years he listened to other agents, strangers on the street, and even the president make similar comments. It had only been a matter of time before he finally snapped. 

 

The Nationals must’ve gotten the home-run because the players were now celebrating on the screen with a montage of replays and the fans going crazy. The festivity filled the silence as everyone stared in disbelief at one another. The man rubbed his neck in complete bewilderment. 

 

The reality settled in as Ben grew conscious of his actions. His senses were returning and he could no longer feel the earth chasm beneath his feet. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Ben turned away to follow Rose to the exit. 

 

“She better be careful, all I’m sayin’. Would hate to see her shot and killed like her father.”

 

Ben paused. He took a deep, devoted inhale before turning and landing his fist on the guy’s jaw. He spun in his wake and met the ground. Before anyone could process what had happened, Ben was storming out of the restaurant. 

 

Rose even held the door open for him. 

 

“Thanks,” he muttered. 

 

“I told you the Nationals would win,” Rose hurried down the sidewalk to their parked car, taking four steps for every single, angry stride Ben made.   

 

Ben eyed his bruising knuckles, “Still a lot of game left.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, peanut. I need you to relax.”

 

“Do not  _ peanut _ me,” Rey chucked another shoe and Finn quickly ducked, avoiding it. They were supposed to be packed and on a flight twenty minutes ago. She threw her hairbrush. “And I am relaxed.” 

 

“Ahsoka’s team secured an interview tomorrow morning in New York,” he jumped aside, the shoe’s pair narrowly missing him. “You can clear the air and tell your side of the story. You can break your silence.” 

 

“I told you I wasn’t ready. He’s baiting me, I just know he is.” 

 

Finn nodded, agreeing with her. “He’s trying to get in your head and it’s definitely working.”

 

Rey froze, holding the lamp in her hand. It was still plugged into the wall and illuminated. She looked shocked, almost betrayed. “What?”  

 

“You heard me.”

 

“Say it again.”

 

“No.”

 

“Do it,” she threatened. “Or I’ll throw this lamp at your head.”

 

Finn wanted to laugh. She was so cute when she was mad. 

 

“Snoke is trying to get in your head. He’s manipulating you. He’s gaslighting you. He’s using your father to distract you. And,” he motioned towards her: stretched, fretted, and traumatized to any end, grasping the lamp like a weapon. “It’s clearly working.” 

 

Rey placed the lamp on the bedside table. She fell back, flopping onto the bed. She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, curling into a fetal position. Slowly, Finn sunk to the edge of the mattress. 

 

“Boston was supposed to be a trial run,” he patted her knee. “It isn’t too late to back out of this entire thing. You graduate in a week, you can just move back to Philadelphia and pretend this whole ordeal didn’t happen.” 

 

Rey spoke into the pillow, her voice muffled. “I can’t do that to Ahsoka… or Poe.” 

 

Finn collapsed onto the bed. He brushed his fingers through her hair. “Forget Ahsoka and forget Poe.” He knew his words must’ve taken her by surprise, because she glanced over the pillow with teary eyes. “I’m serious. If you aren’t happy, if this is hurting your recovery… it isn’t too late to pull out.” 

 

“I can’t,” she muttered. “I can’t do that.” 

 

“You can.”

 

Rey shook her head. She exhaled harshly, running a hand through knotted hair. “Ben was right.” This time, Finn was surprised. He raised a curious eyebrow. “He picked me up after the restaurant fiasco… on a fucking motorcycle,” she sucked on her cheeks at the reminder of every one of her limbs wrapped around him securely. “We spoke for a bit.”

 

“Spoke? Or fought?”

 

“A bit of both,” she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “He said I wasn’t fooling anyone. That I didn’t seem genuine enough. He said I was just a scared, lonely kid. He said I would never be like my father.”  

 

Finn said nothing. Rey seemed to be at war with herself. Stubbornness wanted to forget it all. Integrity knew she could persevere. Somewhere in the middle, she knew her pride would have to be relinquished if she was ever going to make peace with the past. It was ultimately up to her, though. 

 

“And you know what?” Rey turned to meet Finn’s eyes. She was openly crying now. “Ben was right. I am a fraud. I am scared. I am lonely.” 

 

“You may just be a kid,” Finn commented. Rey searched his face wordlessly. He continued, “But you sure as hell frighten the president if he feels the need to slander you on social media. And, you are definitely not a fraud. I was the one who pulled you from your bubble and forced you to attend a demonstration just so I could meet up with  _ some guy.  _ I never asked you to tell your dad about it, or beg him to take on gun control, or decide you should start using that little, loud voice of yours. That was all you.” 

 

The corner of her mouth twinged.  

 

Finn grinned, “Is that a smile?” 

 

“No,” Rey covered her face. 

 

Finn wrestled her, trying to free the concealment. In the tussle, she broke out into a boisterous laugh. They both settled back into the mattress to catch their breath. 

 

“It was him,” she wiped her eyes, not caring about her make-up at this point. She was on mental breakdown three for the day. First, it was over breakfast being ruined by reporters. Second, it was the realization that she still hadn’t written her essay for graduation. Third, it was Snoke’s tweets, which she found about it in the car when Poe nearly dropped his phone in pure, utter horror. “Ben sent the matcha lemonade to your house.” 

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Rey raised an eyebrow. They kept surprising one another. Or, they had both been too distracted to pay attention to their own best friends. 

 

“He loves you.” 

 

“No, he  _ loved _ me.” 

 

“Rey, he risked everything to save your life. He put up with your banter, with your attitude, and your consistent ability to sneak away from security. He helped you get into college. He jumped off a cliff so you could go bungee jumping. He wore Mickey ears to Disney. He flew a F-16 so your best friend could live out their Top Gun fantasy. He even trekked through the woods at night to bring you his sweatshirt, just because you were cold. All four years you were away at college, he asked me for updates on you,” he took a deep breath, almost dramatically. “Of course, I had no information to give because you decided to go awol. However, he did ask about your study abroad, your campus, and where you’d be. Which I suspect is because he wanted to keep you safe, or away from British men. And then,” another dramatic breath. “Your first night back, he showed up to your birthday party. Trust me. That boy loves you.” 

 

Rey kept her eyes fixated on the ceiling. She felt her entire body melt beneath his words into the mattress, suddenly aware of how tired she really was. As Finn continued, her cheeks were warming at the idea that her stubbornness and anxiety over the past really was clouding her own judgement. After the Lincoln Memorial, the idea of sleep was impossible. She had spent the entirety of Boston mulling over Ben’s words, how tough he had been, and the kiss that she still sometimes could feel. It’d prickle from the back of her neck and enfold her entire existence for three, compelling seconds. 

 

“I blew it.”

 

“Nope. The same thing goes for Ben and the campaign… it is not too late. You can either back out and run away to Philadelphia, or you can stay here and make it right.” 

 

“How do I make Snoke’s head of security fall in love with me while publicly smearing his entire presidency?” Rey asked. The question seemed genuine, too. 

 

“That’s easy. Ben is already in love with you.”

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“You do exactly what you did when your father was running for re-election,” Finn tucked a strand behind her ear. “...When Ben  _ first _ fell in love with you. Just be yourself.” 

 

Rey surrendered her adamancy for encouragement. She flung an arm around her best friend and nodded against his chest, sniffling. “Fine. Okay. I’ll give em hell.” 

 

“If you aren’t ready…” Finn begun. 

 

“No,” Rey interjected. “I’m ready. I’m just dramatic.” 

 

“I’m glad to hear it, peanut, but you better not get snot on this  _ Brunello Cucinelli _ cardigan.”

 

She laughed, wiping her wet nostril. “Of course I’m not.”

 

“Your entire wardrobe is on the ground after that temper tantrum. If you pack now, we can be in New York by tonight.” 

 

“We missed our flight to Washington,” Rey stated. 

 

“Yeah? So? Ahsoka will head to base. We’ll take the crew to New York.”

 

“The crew?”

 

“You really think Poe or Jannah would get on that flight without you?” 

 

Rey’s face turned red. She deeply misplaced suspicion on her friends. “Accomodations?” 

 

“Already arranged.”

 

She slowly came to a realization. “You knew I would say yes.”

 

“I’m your best friend and I knew your parents,” Finn grinned. “You were raised on tough love.”

 

* * *

 

Ben pushed the door of his apartment open with his hip. He was holding his cell phone in one hand while his other arm was hooked beneath a brown paper bag, filled with groceries. He thought he had felt his phone vibrate, thought maybe she had finally caved. 

 

“Where have you been?” 

 

“Work,” Ben shoved his phone into his back pocket and juggled his balance for a moment, slipping his boots off by the door. He dropped his keys into the bowl, hearing it clatter. 

 

Han eyed the clock on the microwave. Even from the couch, he could tell it was unsettling late. He was fully reclined on the couch, his cat playing with one of Ben’s shoelaces beneath the coffee table. 

 

Ben glared. “I thought you were getting  _ it _ real toys.” 

 

“I bought  _ him _ toys,” Han pointed aimlessly at a plastic bag from the pet shop. “He still prefers toilet paper rolls and bottle caps. He’s likes to chew. Chewie.” 

 

Ben rubbed a hand down his face. Instead of responding, he fled to the kitchen and put the groceries away in their adequate places. His dad moved in after the gallery incident. He even had gone to the funeral, for Satine’s sake. Despite his inability to share his emotions and feelings, Ben also knew it was also because he was worried about him… even if it was a wordless exchange. 

 

“You work too much,” Han grumbled from the couch. 

 

“It’s an election year,” he responded. “President is a busy person.”

 

He scoffed. “Busy talking shit on Twitter.”

 

“Ah,” Ben pushed his almond milk into the fridge. He added the fruit and vegetables to their appropriate drawers. “So, you  _ do _ watch the news.” 

 

At first, Han said nothing. Maybe he was considering his next words; mulling over the consequences of actually saying them. And of course, like most things in his life, he said it anyway. “Rey has been making a lot of headlines lately.”

 

“Yeah,” Ben responded. His tone was flat. He was trying to not think about her, and she was all anyone ever wanted to talk about. 

 

“She was in Boston,” he continued. “She seemed to do a good job with the reporters.” 

 

Ben eyed the contents of the refrigerator, trying to decide which leftovers he was going to warm up. He peeled back the tinfoil on the casserole, smelled it and made an unsettling face. “You need to throw out old food.” 

 

“It looks like she needs security. The crowds their pulling are huge.” 

 

Ben grabbed a fork from the sink and tried to scrap the food off the edges of the container. 

 

“...Morning America tomorrow…” 

 

He worked at the crud, bending the metallic utensil in half. He shoved all of into the trash, bundling it up and tying it into a knot. 

 

“...break her silence, or something. I wonder if she’ll talk about the assassination.” 

 

That slapped Ben. He paused suddenly, the words hanging in the air between them. He quickly glanced over his shoulder, “What did you just say?” 

 

“I said she was in Boston —” 

 

“No, not that. I heard that.” 

 

“Oh,” Han squinted his eyes, collecting his thoughts. “She has an interview tomorrow?” 

 

“Where?”

 

“New York.”

 

“I thought you said she was in Boston.”

 

“No,” he muted the television. “Rey is in New York, now.” 

 

“Why?”

 

“She’s going to be on Good Morning America,” his father eyed his son suspiciously. 

 

“Did this just get announced?” 

 

“Yeah, it was all over the evening news.” 

 

Ben grabbed at his pocket. He had zero missed messages. Nada. Zilch. Nothing. “You’re sure?” 

 

“Have you been working hard? Or hardly working? It’s literally all over the news.” 

 

He ignored the dad joke. Agent Hux had been skeptically silent the entire day. Even after the burger shake fiasco, Rose and him had retired to their desks and did paperwork for the remainder of the afternoon. Despite the comments the president had made, it was a relatively quiet day within the White House. 

 

“Is it just her?”

 

“That’s what the reporter said,” he gestured to the television screen. 

 

“Ahsoka isn’t going?”

 

“The reporter said it was just Rey. What is —” 

 

“Something’s up.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll say. Ahsoka’s polling.”

 

“No, not that.” He could feel it. The strange, biting paranoia in his gut. 

 

Han watched his son storm up the stairs in heavy, loud stomps. He could hear the distant rustle of clothing and clatter in the bathroom. He glanced at the cat, who was eyeing him just as baffled, a shoelace hanging from his jaw. 

 

Ben jumped down the staircase two, or rather, three steps at a time. He had a duffle bag over his shoulder, stuffing his feet back into his boots. “I have to go. Please do the dishes.”

 

Han released a hefty laugh that reeked of beer and cigarettes. The seriousness of his son’s movements made him stop prematurely. “Where are you going?”

 

“New York,” he slammed the door shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

“Deep breaths. You’ve got this.” 

 

Rey glanced up from the typed paper. The pre-written script with approved answers was highlighted wildly, covered in red marks and marginalized notes in Jannah’s handwriting. “This is overwhelming,” she commented. 

 

“You went to an Ivy League school, you’ll be fine.” 

 

“Do not patronize me.” 

 

Finn smiled sheepishly in the reflection of the mirror. A stylist was curling her hair while another applied blush to her cheeks. She could hardly recognize herself. The eyes that watched her own movements in the glass belonged to a Rey from years ago; a girl that was naive and worried about presentation over legitimacy. 

 

Boston had been a success. Ahsoka Tano delivered an eloquent speech at the marathon memorial and met with survivors. Between interviews and press, the campaign stopped at children’s hospitals, homeless shelters, and even painted a mural for a non-profit raising awareness for artistic students in inner-city schools. 

 

It was easy for Rey. Smile here. Wave there. Don’t open your mouth unless it was the rehearsed script Poe or Jannah had already conjured up, thesaurus in hand. Ahsoka looked like a real contender for the election. Rey and Finn made headlining news for riding rental scooters around the city square. 

 

Now, it was all her. The future of the campaign was hanging delicately by a strand and Rey was holding the scissors. 

 

“Is Ahsoka going to be watching?” Rey asked. 

 

Jannah glanced up from her color-coded schedule. “She’ll be —”

 

Poe interrupted. “Ahsoka has brunch with some donors in Washington. She’ll be able to watch after when she gets the evening report.” 

 

“What if I mess up?”

 

“They agreed to pre-tape your segment. We’ll be able to restart as many times as we need until you get your footing. They… understand.” 

 

Rey nodded, taking a deep and devoted breath. “And security?”

 

“Taken care of.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, unsatisfied with the blunt answer. 

 

“The campaign team and the studio has given us all available resources to keep security a top priority. This will be an in-studio audience, all attendees have been cleared through background checks and went through security.” 

 

“There was security at the gallery, too.” 

 

“That was a  _ different _ head of security.” 

 

Rey shrugged off the stylist applying mascara. She pushed herself from the highchair and found herself dangerously close to Poe, her nose touching his. “First and foremost, the only person on this planet that I trust with my life, is Ben.” 

 

Jannah started to ask a question but Finn shook his head tensely, warning her better of it. 

 

A monster of a man stepped between Poe and Rey. Her head just reached his swelling chest in a tucked, tight black shirt. Poe gestured from the other side, “Meet your new bodyguard.” 

 

Her eyes nervously crept up the front of him. It wasn’t a person. It was a mountain. 

 

“Boston was a trial and we grossly underestimated the crowds,” Poe circled the two of them, unbothered by the emotional confrontation just seconds ago. Finn must have straightened his ass out. “Ahsoka thought it was best to hire security for the campaign team, as well. That includes you.” 

 

The man forced an unpleasant smile. Rey mimicked the gesture. 

 

“I know you have a… track record with bodyguards…” Poe awkwardly commented. “Just try not get this one dead, fired, or wanting to quit. It’s important to me that you’re safe.” 

 

“Don’t kiss him, either.” Finn commented from across the room. Jannah wordlessly glanced around, clearly perplexed by the joke. Rey shot Finn a dangerous glare and he returned the interaction with an angelic grin and a wink. 

 

She couldn’t even be mad at him, no matter how hard she tried to be. 

 

“Okay,” Jannah shrugged through the silence. “Now that  _ that’s _ out of our system, can we please get back to rehearsing the script?” 

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t seem like it when you watch on television, but actually being in front of the camera and studio audience is utterly terrifying. 

 

Although it doesn’t seem that way when you watch it through a television screen, being actually on the stage and in front of the audience and camera, is utterly terrifying. 

 

It was something Rey loved as a child; the attention, googly eyes, the glam. Now, being in front of large groups of people just reminded of her suppressed thoughts and unwanted anxiety. 

 

“You may know her as the First Daughter of the late Obi-wan Kenobi and America’s favorite troublemaker, but today Rey Kenobi is shaping her own image and using her voice for activism, once again.” 

 

The introduction was a blur. The montage of her past interviews, appearances, and the college campus tour was over and done before she could coherently catch her breath and focus her thoughts. The studio lights were too bright. It reminded her of the hospital. 

 

“Thank you for having me,” Rey grinned at the reporter. 

 

“Thank you for coming,” the reporter returned the grin. 

 

Behind the camera, Poe watched nervously on a smaller television screen. He was able to see what the audience at home was watching. From the crop, and the angle, you could hardly notice her jittering beneath the table. Finn placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

 

“We loved the college campus tour,” another reporter commented. “It seemed fun.”

 

“It was. I was able to travel throughout the country with my best friends and meet a lot of inspiring student activists. Overall, I thought the college campus tour was a success regardless of the outcome. Those stories will forever stick with me.” 

 

“Speaking of college,” the reporter smiled. “You are graduating from the University of Pennsylvania next week. Congratulations.” 

 

“Thank you,” Rey blushed. The studio audience clapped. Poe nervously joined in. “It’s my mom’s alma mater. I went for political science, as well.” 

 

“How is your mom?”

 

The question was too fast and was most definitely not on the rehearsed script. 

 

“My mom is doing well,” Rey kept her smile sturdy. “She lives in Vermont at our old home. She does charity events with the mayor and likes to garden.” 

 

“That’s great to hear,” one of them commented. 

 

Rey only nodded. Finn felt his hands go clammy now. The only person relaxed with Jannah, unphased by their reaction and perplexity to a simple question. 

 

“And I believe you also studied in London?” The reporter catechized. “Let’s pull up the clip.”

 

The cameras changed over to a short clip that had leaked to the internet a few months ago. It was Torra, Kaz, Tam and Rey walking with linked arms down the street. A tourist had taken the video on their cell phone. Rey was just glad no one knew it was because the Women’s Soccer Team had won that night and they were plastered beyond repair. 

 

“It’s great to see you experiencing college.” 

 

“I made life-long friends. It was nice to be treated like a normal student. I had to do my laundry in the dormitory like any other kid, I had a meal swipe plan, and I went to football games.” 

 

The reporter grinned, “Did you meet any guys?”

 

Finn glared at the studio manager. He shrugged. Surprise question number two. 

 

Rey diffused the awkward silence with her typical brunch with a diplomat laugh. She pushed a loose curl behind her ear, “No. I focused on my studies.” 

 

The reporters joined into the laughter. It was not the answer they were fishing for. One of them circled like a shark and tried a different angle. “You focused on your studies, and apparently the next election.” 

 

Another studio audience clap. 

 

Rey nodded. She could see Jannah’s highlighted section and repeated it verbatim. “I was grateful and honored when Ahsoka asked me to join her campaign team. Growing up in the White House, she was a role-model to me. I agreed immediately.”

 

“Could you describe your role on the team?”

 

“Yes,” Rey continued with the script. These were the write questions. “I’m technically an intern. I work with the others on organizing schedules, planning city visits, and creating content for the social media accounts. I’ll also be participating in interviews and press along the way to spread Ahsoka’s message. Together, I believe we can restore hope in America.” 

 

“Hope,” a reporter repeats. “That was your father’s campaign motto, yes?”

 

Rey stuttered. That was not on the script. 

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” the reporter glanced at their own script. It was equally covered in her own scribbles and notes. “Our Only Hope.” 

 

Behind the cameras and in her peripheral vision, she could see a shadowed scuffle between Finn and Poe, and possibly Jannah. 

 

“Yes,” Rey nodded. “That is correct.”

 

“So, is it safe to say that Ahsoka asked you to join her campaign team because you’re Kenobi’s daughter? Because her message aligns so vividly with your father’s?”

 

What the fuck is the protocol. Rey’s eyes went back and forth between the reporters. 

 

“Or, no?” The other reporter added. 

 

“No,” Rey interjected. Their faces looked shocked. She quickly shook her head. “Yes, no, I mean yes. Yes, Ahsoka knew me when she was the Vice President. She was, again, uh, my role-model. I deeply identified with her. She kept the Hope motto because that was the original message from my father’s re-election and it still applies to today’s political climate.” 

 

“Today’s political climate,” one repeated. “In regards to President Snoke?”

 

Red flag. Avoid. That’s bait. “Yes.” 

 

“Yesterday, the President sent out a series of tweets that names you explicitly. Were you aware?” 

 

Rey turned to the audience. Every eye was on her. Poe was trying to signal something from behind the camera but it was lost in the darkness. The studio lights were starting to feel really hot now. 

 

“Yes, I am aware.” 

 

“What are your thoughts on those tweets?” 

 

“I think it’s ironic,” Rey formulated her words. Sound like Jannah. Be Jannah. “The president wants to invalidate his opponent for involving students, but he is the one acting childish. Ahsoka is taking future leaders and giving them a firsthand experience in the realm of politics. I think that is brave to do, and shows that she cares about the future of America and the children that will one day lead it.” 

 

The words came out quicker than she thought they would. The studio audience clapped feverishly. She felt a wave of relief fall over herself. 

 

“The leaders of America,” the reporter repeated. “Does that include you, Rey?”

 

_ Uh. Sure? Maybe? No, most likely. This is about Ahsoka, not me. Not Rey. _

 

“Yes, of course.” 

 

“Are you going to fall into politics like your parents?” 

 

“I know how this will go. Up until election day, the president is going to tell me that I’m too young, that I’m too unqualified and too ill-prepared,” Rey listed the things on her fingers. She gestured with flailed hands. “That is not true. I grew up in the White House, observing and learning from my father. My mom would take me to charity banquets and show me what it means to truly be compassionate. I organized a cross-country election campaign designed specifically for students. I am going to graduate among the top of my class for political science and I am going to continue working with Ahsoka.” 

 

“Wow,” one reporter commented, impressed. 

 

“Sounding like a real Kenobi,” the other remarked. 

 

Rey wanted to scream. 

 

“Are you worried about your safety?” 

 

“What?”

 

“We were curious about your state of mind and your health. Are you okay with being back in the spotlight? Your last public appearance was three years ago, at the National Gallery of Art, when your father was assassinated.” 

 

Left fucking field. That question — WAS IT EVEN A QUESTION? — was most definitely not approved on the script. Poe would have scribbled it out with a gigantic red marker. 

 

“The question is unclear.” 

 

“Are you okay, Rey?”

 

“Yes, I’m okay.” 

 

“We recognize you never had the opportunity to publicly mourn the loss of —” 

 

“My father died almost four years ago. I was able to grieve for him,” she spoke sternly. “Privately.” 

 

“It is our understanding that you were also shot. That kind of trauma can be lifelong.” 

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” It came out with a bit of attitude. She quickly cleared her throat, completely aware of the chaos happening behind the camera between her team. It was all coming back to her — the smell of blood, the sound of the gun, the years spent dodging therapy. “Losing my father was the hardest ordeal I have ever had to come to terms with. As the leader of a country, he was aware of the risk. I tried to ignore it, tried to come to terms with myself and the reality of the situation. I am very grateful for the first responders, our security personnel, and all the love I have received since.” 

 

Before the reporter was able to ask another question, Rey quickly continued. Fuck the script. 

 

“I have focused on myself these past few years, which is something I was never able to do in The White House. I wasn’t socialized the same way as other kids my age. I wasn’t aware. I had to push myself to be uncomfortable just to get comfortable. My father once told me that progress wasn’t linear. He said that sometimes we had to take one step back to take two steps forward.” 

 

“He would be proud of you,” the reporter smiled, satisfied that they pried dialogue about her dead father from her vault of trauma. 

 

She could hear Poe quietly arguing with the studio manager to restart the interview. The live button had been flashing the entire time. Rey could see it in the reflection of the shiny desk. Now would be a perfectly reasonable time for Rey to have a mental breakdown. But she can't. She can't let down Ahsoka, or Poe, or Finn, or Jannah, or her mother if she's watching at home, or herself.

 

“I know he would be proud of me, and I know he is proud of me. Being a Kenobi is my superpower and I’m going to use it for good. Snoke does not need another four years. He has already proven himself incapable of being a leader,” Rey’s words fell from her mouth matter-of-factly. It took everyone in the room by surprise, including the two reporters. They were struck now, their lips parted. Behind the camera, hidden beneath the cloak of the studio’s dimmed lights, she could tell that Poe’s mouth was on the floor. He gave a nervous glance to Finn. “America has been in a stand-still because our president would rather clutch his ego like a pearl necklace, rather than do what is best for his people. Had my father not been assassinated, President Snoke would consider himself so lucky to be known as a distant memory, and that is exactly what he will be when Ahsoka Tano wins the presidential race this coming November.” 

 

“Elaborate on that,” the reporter asked. 

 

“No,” Rey deadpanned. 

 

Years of pent up anger, being told that she was too young, too inexperienced, too this, too that. Her father was dead and nothing was going to change that. If Snoke wanted to play with fire, then bring it on. No one wanted to say it, but corruption, greed, and politics killed her father. Rey was not the president’s daughter anymore and she was ready to burn the White House, and all of Washington, to the ground. 

 

A pin could drop in the room. 

 

_ Fuck, the script.  _ Rey turned towards the camera and grinned, “Make sure to visit Ahsoka Tano’s website to learn more about her message and to make a donation to the campaign.” 

 

* * *

 

The bodyguard entered the hotel room first. He glanced around, checking all the possible hiding places and the different rooms of the penthouse before returning to the main entrance. He nodded with contentment before bidding her a good night. “I’ll be next door if there’s an emergency.”

 

Rey nodded but the door was already shut behind him. This was the part when Ben would secretly sneak back in, but Rey had grown used to an empty bed these past few years. 

 

The car ride should have been Poe grilling her about defying the script. Instead, he had a smug, pleased look on his face. Jannah even said she was proud of the way Rey had handled the reporters. Finn looked like the manifestation of: I told you so. 

 

She could feel a migraine coming on. 

 

She sighed, eyeing the unopened luggage that a bell-hopper had already brought to the room hours ago. She thought better than to turn on the evening news, and instead, found the bathroom and ran a hot shower. 

 

* * *

 

 

The hot water drenched her hair, the single droplets racing one another down warm flesh to puddle by her feet. She closed her eyes and allowed the warmth to surround her; to caress her. 

 

Plumes of steam rose above her, filling the hotel bathroom to the brim. 

 

She released a moan, balls of fist holding herself against the cold tile. There was no going back now, not after the comments she made on national television that morning. She might as well had made a blood oath with the Declaration of Independence. Whether Rey wanted to accept it or not, she was her father’s daughter. She was in this fight for good, now. If she wasn’t in Washington, she was lost.  

 

She pulled the faucet shut, listening as the water dripped to a quiet demise. 

 

Rey stepped from the shower. She smeared her hand across the glass. In the reflection of the foggy mirror, she caught a glimpse of her naked body. She dragged the tip of her fingers over her collarbone, across her chest, between her cleavage and down her naval in a straight line. With no makeup, no clothing, and wet hair, she looked too organic for comfort. She couldn’t find the courage to meet her own eyes in the mirror; too afraid of who would look back at her. 

 

Once upon a time, she had been good at resisting authority, but then she learned that the game can bite back, and now, it was all she ever knew. She had nothing left to lose, except her friends, her degree, her life, and of course, Ben. But somehow, that was everything that fueled her desire to keep poking the bear. 

 

This Rey was evolving. She was unfolding into nothing but herself, and somehow, that was enough. She could feel the warmth inside her now; unapologetic and ready. She loved the imagery of herself holding a match to their paper castle. It festered into something worth smiling about. 

 

Ben. 

 

Slowly, Rey turned. She let her eyes gaze down to meet the healed scars on her bicep. What had once been two strangely-shaped gashes crusted by blood, were now just faint, hardly recognizable marks. Still, they reached towards one another; open hands requesting embrace. She allowed her finger to drift over them in a single, supple stroke. Goosebumps flared on her forearm in response. 

 

When the gallery shooter raised a weapon to the podium, and pulled their trigger, they had been aiming for Rey’s head. Instead, their bullet met the marble column directly behind her. 

 

Before Phasma could even think about doing it, Ben had already raised his own gun and aimed it directly at Rey. It was a perfect shot — just enough to nip the flesh and send her reeling backwards, while his bullet ricocheted elsewhere, leaving nothing but a biting, indescribable pain in her arm.  

 

She had collapsed to the ground, sputtering in shock that Ben had  _ actually _ shot her. Only until he was on the stage and mending her wound with ripped clothing, had she realized it was because she needed to get out of the line of fire… fast. 

 

> _ Before her head could smack against the marbled flooring, his hand caught it in embrace. He frantically squeezed her close, using his body and the podium to shield her body. He moved urgently — ripping her gown to shreds and using the strips to stop the bleeding. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Consciousness faded in and out.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Get off of me,” she winced, struggling with him.  _
> 
>  
> 
> _ He dismissed her sternly. “Sit still.” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Her vision doubled. And then it tripled. He was focused, but elsewhere — if that were even possible. His fingers fumbled with the garment. She was drenched in something warm and dewy, almost sticky. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Am I going to —?” _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “No,” he yanked the tourniquet securely. She yelped. _

 

Rey would never forget his eyes. How dark and apologetic they were, pools of conflict and determination and begging. 

 

She pulled a towel tightly around her frame, tucking it securely and walked back into the bedroom. Slowly, she eyed the room. The air felt different and she couldn’t quite decipher if it had been the steam brimming from the bathroom or the unspoken reality that she wasn’t alone. 

 

A hand fastened around her mouth from behind, silencing her. Her eyes went wide, her body pressed firmly against another person. She struggled to release a scream, wrestling with their grasp. They were far too strong. 

 

“Shhh,” he shushed her. His breath was warm. It caressed the shell of her ear. “It’s me. Be quiet.” 

 

His voice melted her struggle. When she calmed, he released her and just as quickly, she whipped around and met Ben’s eyes. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” She shouted. 

 

He held his finger to her lips, shushing her again. He was holding the spare room key. 

 

“How did you get that?” 

 

“This?” Ben held it out for her to snatch. “Your new bodyguard sucks.” 

 

She caught his eyes averting to her body; still wet and lathered by the soapy shower, dripping onto the hardwood floor of the bedroom. Her cheeks flared. “What are you doing here?” 

 

“I…” he collected himself. “I wish I had a good reason.” 

 

Rey grew silent. She could have sworn she caught the slightest glint in his eyes, the smallest motion toward her.  

 

“That’s a lie,” he corrected himself. “I want to make a new alliance.”

 

“Could this have waited?” She held the towel tightly to her body, shivering in the air conditioning. “Or, you could have just called the burner phone.”

 

“You could have, too.”

 

“I wanted to.”

 

“Yeah. Same.”

 

“No,” he shook his head. 

 

“No?” Rey asked.

 

“Not that,” he quickly reassured her. “That’s not why I’m here.” 

 

“Why are you here, then?” 

 

Rey met his eyes. He met hers. Their eyes searched one another, yearning for something unspoken. They could have said it, but neither of them did. 

 

_ You look so grown now. You look so sure of yourself.  _

 

_ You really did not change at all.  _

 

_ I missed you.  _

 

_ When an eighties song comes on the radio, I want to pull my steering wheel.  _

 

_ Do you have any idea how long these years have felt? _

 

_ I tried to date but none of them felt like you. _

 

_ Sometimes I searched your name on the Internet just to look at those old photos of us that one summer.  _

 

_ So do I.  _

 

_ I had left you alone at the gallery because I wanted to ask your father a question. I wanted to get his blessing. I didn’t even say it, but he knew what I was trying to say. I wanted to propose, and he said yes.  _

 

“Yeah?” Rey asked, her voice hopeful. 

 

Ben had just realized he had been silent the entire time, just staring at her and bringing her entirety into himself. “You and I are good at keeping secrets and I think we can share one more.” 

 

She said nothing. 

 

“Beating Snoke,” he clarified. “I want in. And I can help." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe it. This story is close to ending, give or take a few chapters, and it is time I come clean about something. 
> 
> When I started writing Olive and an Arrow, I wanted to create a modern au of The Lion King. This led to the sequel. The entire Pursuit of Happiness story is modeled after it. Obi-wan Kenobi is seen by the world as some deity, full of wisdom. He sees life as a delicate balance and understands death is a part of that circle. Long live the king. Rey is Simba. She is ambitious, she is spunky, she is full of herself until she is forced to face reality, and mortality. This entire story has been about redemption, finding yourself and fulfilling your place in the circle of life. Alexa play He Lives in You. 
> 
> Please consider buying me a coffee! You can find me on [Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/jessicaanne). I'm experiencing some financial insecurity right now so anything from a reassuring comment to a kudos is helpful. As always, thank you for reading. ♡
> 
> And, yes. There is a thundering "remember who you are" scene impending...


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